


Beauty the Beast

by Freyjabee



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Dark, Dark Romance, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Revenge, jerza - Freeform, tower of heaven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freyjabee/pseuds/Freyjabee
Summary: Years have passed but Erza can't leave the Tower of Heaven. It haunts her every dream. The only way she can see to escape is by destroying those that shackled her, the only way she knows how. There's a beast in her and its hungry. To Jellal, he will always be the villain, and villains deserve only one end. While he waits for Erza's cold justice, he hunts beside her.
Relationships: Jellal Fernandes/Erza Scarlet
Comments: 24
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Patreon request! Find me on Patreon and pledge 5 dollars if you’re interested in making your own request 😊

Erza has built her life on patience. When she was small, abandoned to the streets of Rosemary Village, she relied on the patience of villagers and their children to feed, clothe, and accept her; captured to build the Tower of Heaven, she relied on the patience of the occult members, praying they didn't wring her for all she was worth and leave her a husk. As an adult, she's relied on the patience of her friends and those she's dubbed her family, hoping they won't cast her aside if they catch a peek at the ugly beneath her armour.

It's all been worth it, she tells herself. She has learned to pose with the patience of a skilled hunter. Instead of trees and leaves and the soft forest floor to hide her movements, pad her steps, she has concrete and buildings she never remembers being as tall and as imposing as they are.

Deep laughter ricochets off brick. Erza slinks low into the shadows of the alley. She feels like a cat with a mouse in her sights. Her heart is slow and steady, her breathing even and quiet, and her grip on her sword is tight with grim determination.

At one end of the alley is a gold-trimmed carriage, hooked up to a horse that stomps his feet. At the other end is the Council building, where its hoards of evil people slither out like larva from a stinking corpse.

 _One at a time,_ Erza tells herself when her revulsion rises so high, it nearly chokes her. _One at a time._

Louis Hemming is a beautiful man. She can admit that as he rounds the corner. He has high cheekbones and a kisser's mouth and lots of thick, dark hair that he must condition every day. It glitters like strands of zirconium in the fading light.

He likes to present himself as rich, as he once was. His clothes are tailored and pressed, and his shoes are leather embossed with silver leafing. Yet, he's behind on his rent and has eaten daikon all this last week. The day she arrived in the city, she found the remnants in his garbage, along with an empty can of sardines.

Louis raises his hand to wave to a co-worker one final time before facing forward again. He walks slightly hunched over, and fast, like he can feel there's a threat in the air, the way a rabbit can before an owl swoops down and releases it from its earthly toil.

Something dark and wicked and familiar uncoils in Erza and just quickly, she thinks she's not much better than these other corpse flies. She needs them to suffer to make her rich. She doesn't deal in money or jewels, though. What she gets is so much more valuable.

Justice.

When Louis is so close, she can smell is excessive use of the cologne he's watered down to extend its life, Erza lashes out. She grabs him by the head and slams him into the brick wall. He's so shocked, he can't scream. Blood dribbles out of his mouth and ruins his shirt. Two of his teeth have come loose and he is no longer so beautiful.

 _Justice_ , that dark creature inside Erza croons. _Justice._

She breathes it in, holds her breath and the stench of blood in her sinuses.

"He-help!" Louis mewls, too quiet to hear.

Erza tightens her hold on him. "Silence."

He quiets.

His eyes are fish-big and fish-dull, Erza sees as she turns him around to look him over. She likes doing this, though the faces sometimes haunt her in her dreams. She needs to see that the monsters look just like her. Just like _everyone._ No one thing that makes them stand out. It helps her to remember to always be cautious. If she's always cautious, she's never the victim. Not again.

"What do you want?"

"Recompense." She doesn't know her voice when it gets low and dangerous like that. It gives her chills, but in a good way.

"I don't have any money," Louis stammers, "but you can take my jewellery—"

"Once, you were approached by men," Erza speaks over him. He shuts up to listen to her. "They offered you a piece of paradise if only you'd reroute some of the building material going across the Straight."

Louis gets paler, the longer she speaks.

"Remember?" _Remember the salt in the air and the way it burned your skin when you tripped out onto the beach? Remember the steel cutting into your bare hands as you and hundreds like you, too weak to carry heavy steel like that, were forced to drag it up the slope and then up the side of the Tower of Heaven? Remember the broken fingers and infected cuts, the peeled toenails because you didn't have_ shoes _? Remember, remember, remember?_

_Every day._

"They threatened me," Louis says lowly.

Erza doesn't remember deciding to hit him, but his head cracks back into the brick with a dull thud and she must wait a moment for the consciousness to come back to his eyes. "They _paid_ you. And you said yes."

He sniffles. "I didn't know what was happening in that tower."

"I don't believe that." Even if he didn't know exactly what was going on, he knew it wasn't anything moral. People don't get rich because they're doing good things. Money— _lots_ of money, _easy_ money—is a dirty man's game.

Blood and snot wick on Louis' upper lip. Some of it threatens to fall on Erza's armour but she's a million miles away from caring.

"Did you think no one would punish you for it?" Erza breathes.

Louis just stares at her and his expression is like so many others'. Awed horror. Reverence. She is a capricious god. She is their punisher. She is the last thing they see before she walks them into the dark night.

"When you close your eyes, do you see the lives you've ruined?"

Louis doesn't answer. He can't. She's squeezing his throat too tight for him to make a sound.

"Do you think about the people that died, broken, so you can squander your riches?"

Pissed it away on useless things. _Silver filigree leather shoes._ They were tramping gum right now. They've probably been through dog shit and vomit. Mud and garbage.

She wanted them to go through spilled blood before Louis Hemming departed from this life.

"They took my eye," she tells him. Could almost feel the beating that knocked it from its home. "And that's not the worst of what they did." The Tower of Heaven was horrible well before Jellal ever took it. In the shadowed hallways, boys and girls cried and would come back with welts on their bodies in places Erza was told not to let anyone touch. Most of the times they were the older ones, but not always.

Beatings and murder for disobedience, bodies were disgraced when they'd fall where they stood, too exhausted to move on, and worse things that only come to the forefront of Erza's mind in her nightmares.

"You deserve worse," she says, and the words reverberate way deep down in her bones, where she can't tell if she means them or if she's just said them so many times, they've become true. In her heart, she knows wrong after wrong after wrong doesn't make it right, but she's as restless as a banshee and will not be satisfied until everyone has paid, and the only currency her demons are interested in is blood.

Louis gurgles. She takes her short sword and turns it around, pressing the point against his chest. The only mercy she will allow him is a quick death, and slides it through his expensive clothing, straight into his heart. His body jars and quivers and bleeds over her steel. The ends of his lustrous hair get wet and its colour dulls.

Erza holds him until she feels the last breath leave his lungs, then steps back. Her sword slides out as easily as it slid in and Louis collapses in the alley, cold and dead. The beast inside Erza purrs its content and settles once more.

"How many will you kill?"

Erza doesn't react immediately. She pretends like she's unaffected and magics away her sword. Her armour, too. She's covered in blood. When fresh clothes cover her sin, she feels equipped to turn on her mother.

Eileen Belserion is beautiful in the same way a tiger snake is. She's cold. She's deadly. And when she speaks, Erza wants to break everything pretty about her.

Erza makes her back straight. She used to be ashamed, and afraid, that someone else knew her secret. No longer. They've not become allies, her and her mother, but there are so many secrets kept between them, they are as old acquaintances. "All of them."

"I could destroy them all right now if that's what you wish." Eileen snaps her long, clawed fingers and out on the street, a man drops, bleeding from his nose and mouth for no obvious reason. People flock to his side, panicked.

Erza recognizes Irving Grog, one of Louis Hemming's accomplices. He owned the ship that brought most of the stolen material to the Tower of Heaven. Erza has tracked him for months, deciding where and when he should pay, and her mother _took it from her._

She snarls and steps into the fading sunlight, toward Eileen, a sword in her hand. "How dare you? They're _mine_."

Eileen's mouth curls into a cruel smile. "Careful, darling, your dragon is showing."

 _Just like Mommy,_ her tone suggests. It's true. They are alike in more ways than Erza is comfortable with.

Erza does what she imagines not many people are brave enough to do and turns her back on her mother.

People are gathering around Irving Grog's corpse; their yells have turned to hush whispers. She sidles around them, counting on their horror to keep her anonymous. It works. For once, she's not the centre of attention and can cross town without suspicion.

The hotel was Lucy's idea. Erza would have been just as happy to sleep on the ground in the forest for this job but admits it has its perks when she sneaks away from her teammates to play murderess.

 _Judge,_ Erza corrects. It's not murder when you take the lives of horrible people whose greed ended so many others'. And if they did something terrible once without consequence, they're apt to do it again.

She turns on her shower and strips off her clothes in her usual way, wasting magic for the sake of convenience. She avoids the mirror, afraid of what she'll see there, and steps beneath the hot spray. It works to unwind her muscles and ease her cold fever. By the time she's done, the bathroom is so steamy, she can't see her reflection.

She knows she has a visitor as soon as she opens the bathroom door. She can smell the road on him, dust and blood and _tired._

She sees him looking for a place to sit where he won't dirty anything. He looks up when he hears her and looks her over, head-to-foot, almost like he's forgotten how much he likes the sight of her.

Erza's smiles are in short supply, but Jellal's never needed that from her.

Jellal reaches for her and Erza folds around him like origami. He kisses her and she doesn't care about her damp skin on his filthy travel clothes. She doesn't care about the sand in his hair or the dirt smeared across his cheek. He takes the ugliness in her, the beast, and smooths it into something almost pretty again, some shiny piece of glass he can cut himself on because Jellal is always ready to be a martyr and pay for someone else's sins.

He trails his fingers down her spine until he reaches the edge of her towel and then flattens his palm against her skin. He's warm through his leather gloves and she's cold. His kiss deepens. She tastes ginger on his tongue as she curls into him and presses her palms against his chest. She can feel his lungs rise and fall, his body responding to the nearness of hers.

"I've missed this," he whispers against her lips.

"Me, too." It's been too long.

Erza wriggles and her towel slides free to puddle at her feet. She shivers; it's the cold, but it's also his voice, his hands grazing down her front, over her collarbone, to the tips of her breasts, sliding over them gently, and continuing past her ribs and her waist to her hips. He rolls his thumbs over her skin, drawing closer and closer to where she desperately wants him to be.

It's torture, but Erza closes her eyes and lets Jellal take the time he needs. Eventually, he stops patiently relearning her body and it's Erza's turn.

Jellal's armour is softer than hers, made of sand and sewn material, belted together with leather. His skin beneath is damp with sweat when she kisses it.

Naked from the waist up, he lets her push him back on the bed where she undoes his pants. He's at attention, hard and enthusiastic. Erza settles over him, eager to fill her body with another sensation, something different than steel sliding through flesh, and rage. Jellal takes it all from her, eager to feel them again. The him that lived in the Tower of Heaven is a ghost haunting _this_ Jellal, the one that walked free. He is as scared of it as he is intrigued. Amazed by its violence.

Erza never is. Violence is the one language she speaks flawlessly, day in and day out. She knows herself best when she's lying in wait in alleys for men and women who make their riches off the backs of the innocent dead.

She used to think Jellal wouldn't love her if she told him her secrets, but one winter day, beneath a snowy sky, it just bubbled out of her. She'd turned to him and said, "I want to kill them all," and Jellal only nodded, solemn.

Sometimes, like now, when he's feeling her body around him and he's approaching orgasm, he holds his head back, neck exposed like he's imagining one day, she'll put her blade against his throat, too, and make him pay.

Erza takes him by the neck, squeezing gently, feeling his moans and staccato breaths. Jellal opens his eyes and looks at her between his thick lashes. She doesn't always see the sinner of the Tower of Heaven, unlike Jellal, but sometimes, when she looks at him from the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of who he once was.

She squeezes tighter. Jellal's hips move faster, meeting hers. Erza's body starts to tingle. Jellal plants one hand between her breasts, half cupping one, and holds her hip with his other hand.

The sex turns rough, and in the roughness, she feels closer to him. His quiet moans turn fevered and his pleasure pushes Erza into her own. He comes when she does, spilling inside her. Afterward, Erza leans down and kisses him again, the apology Jellal doesn't want.


	2. Chapter 2

Jellal opens his eyes to cardinal red splayed out in front of him. It fills him with a feeling he can't name. It's both calming and madness-inducing. His head empties at the sight of it and he goes single-minded. _Erza._ His mouth curls at the thought of her name. _Erza._ She is sickness and pain. She is his love and his shame. And he will never, ever be the same.

Beside him, her eyebrows are knitted. She's caught in the web of dream and it's not a gentle one. Erza's never are. She reaches out to him in her sleep, though, and her touch is both strained ( _She hates me)_ and gentle ( _She loves what she hates.)._

Jellal used to ask her what happened in those dreams, but she's never been forthright. When pushed, she lies. He knows Erza, though, and is almost positive she dreams of Siegrain. He's mixed up on how to feel about this, too. Terrible, obviously, because how could he do that to Erza? But also… relieved in a sense. She's withstood a landslide of bad and his memory is the worst that haunts her dreams, but still, she manages to make love to him. Perhaps there is hope in this world. Hope that the worst of the storm has passed, and everything now is just residual waves.

Erza mutters in her sleep, unnerved, and tosses her head. Jellal props himself on his elbow and looks down on her. The soft skin around her neck is not so soft and not so pale, not now. It's transformed and is now dark, like scalded metal, and cut into a diamond pattern and raised just slightly. He brushes his lips across it. It's smooth and cool, like snake scales, but the edges are also sharp. He can feel her magic straining against her skin. A beast struggling to break free. She could destroy the whole world if she let it.

"Wake up, Erza," Jellal nudges.

Her eyes flutter. He catches a glimpse of a narrow black pupil set in a yellow iris.

"Erza."

Her fingers cinch in the blanket like claws. Jellal pushes his body against hers, hoping the contact will bring her out of her dream.

"Erza, wake up."

Erza draws in a startled breath and her eyes come open. At first, her yellow eyes skirt back and forth and it's like she can't recognize him or this place she's in, but Jellal strokes his fingers through her hair and that seems to bring her back to herself. The yellow drains out of her irises rapidly. He'd be foolish if he didn't admit it's chilling.

She sighs and falls back against her pillow. Her hair fans around her head in a blood-soaked wave. "What time is it?" Her voice cracks coming out of her throat like she's spent years in solitude. Is that what it feels like in her dreams, when he's standing over her and the Tower of Heaven is throbbing against her like the flexing throat of a hungry beast?

Jellal pulls away from the memory of Erza broken on the ground. It makes him feel villainous again and that's a dangerous way to feel. "An hour before sunrise."

Her eyes flutter closed and Jellal wonders what he'll do if she opens them and they're yellow again. Erza's worst secret is her best-kept. She's an early riser and a light sleeper, mostly, and can usually pull herself out of a nightmare. Once, she told Jellal she thought Natsu knew. She woke from a sweating nightmare to him leaning over her in the darkness, nose cocked like he was smelling her. She'd been so panicked, she'd smacked him, pushing him back.

Natsu has a keen nose. He can smell a waffle from a kilometer away. Surely, he can smell a threat when it's sleeping next to him?

Jellal watched him for days afterward, a hole in the earth ready for his corpse, prepared to do what Erza had been strictly against—anything to keep her secret safe. But aside from a black eye, Natsu was his old, cheery self, quick to smile and laugh. He didn't treat Erza differently and didn't whisper with Gray or Lucy when she wasn't around.

Hesitantly, Jellal let it go. Maybe Erza was right, and he hadn't seen anything. Maybe he was good at keeping a secret. Or maybe he was just dense and didn't realize the depth of the peculiarity he'd seen. Whatever the case, Natsu got a free ride and Jellal didn't have to do something unforgivable to one of Erza's closest friends.

"The council is expecting me back this morning," Jellal says. "I'll come to you again if your team is still here." He keeps his voice carefully normalized so Erza feels normal, too. He's never had to calm her from hysteria (the time with Natsu was the closest her cool exterior came to cracking) but he doesn't want to give her any reason to feel guilty. None of this is her fault. She shouldn't feel like it is.

"Where is the rest of your guild?" Erza asks.

"Investigating reports of a black mage in Oarsville." He names a town in the south, where reports of satanic rituals have run wild for the last three weeks.

"The council trusted you not to be with them?" Erza fixes him with one eye; the other remains closed.

Yes and no. He's under strict orders to bring them back by lethal force if necessary. He's sworn to uphold it, too. Beneath his arm is a brand that will boil his blood if he disobeys. It's the only one they've bothered to inflict upon him, trusting that human things will keep him on the straight and narrow. _Erza_ things.

 _She's a true angel_ , Jellal has heard some of the men say. _There is no one purer than her_. Only he knows the beast inside the beauty. It's one of the few things that makes him feel special.

"They'll return," he promises.

Erza closes her eyes again. She's more relaxed now that her dream has settled like grounds in a cup of coffee. Her fingers brush Jellal's bare shoulder. The blood is gone from her hands, but he can almost feel it smearing across his skin. A lesser man would feel guilt at being her accomplice. But he doesn't hate that she's so possessed by this rage. When she first told him of her troubles, he'd been relieved. Was still, deep down. It meant he wasn't the only one still tainted by darkness.

They were both monsters.

Erza brings her hand to his neck and plays her fingers through his hair. Her eyes are open again and locked on his. They're brown, but not like a doe. Wolf brown. Predatory, beneath her splendid exterior.

She pulls him in, and he kisses her. The horizon is lightening, and he needs to get ready to go to the council, but he makes a concession for another few minutes in bed with Erza. They so rarely get moments like these, most of their time is stolen here and there, lavishes Creekside, rolls through the underbrush, desperate pawing in the shadows of rocky outcroppings so the rest of her team can't spot them.

Jellal longs for lazy mornings posed over Erza in the comfort of a room with four walls. They've seldom had such luxury and he wants to give it to her.

Erza curves her spine and pushes into him. The blanket slides aside and her bare skin is hot on his chest. He moves his kiss from her mouth to her pert nipple and nibbles it gently to get a rise out of her. She gasps and scrapes her nails across his back. Her legs open and he uses his hand between them, playing at her opening. She gets slick and he gets hard. He inserts two fingers and feels her body open for him, welcoming him deeper and asking for more.

Jellal curls his fingers and finds the one spot that will make Erza mindless. Her body arches, arches, arches, and her breath catches. Her neck has flushed, and her nipples are stiff. She cascades into an orgasm. Her muscles go rigid a second before they loosen and she crashes back against the bed, riding out the pleasure.

Her eyes flick open, heavy-lidded, her mouth a damp smile. She wraps her legs around his back and pulls him in toward her. Jellal slides inside her heady warmth and allows himself to be lost.

* * *

Jellal looks to the horizon where the sun rolls up like a bulbous eye freed of its socket. Its light spills shadows on the city ground. No crowds walk through them yet, it was still too early, but the odd person—a baker, a handmaiden, out for supplies. A few city guards yawning hugely over cups of tea that have already gone cold in the brisk air.

Era's council building is modern and gleams like quartz in the early sunlight. Two guards (new additions after the building's prior destruction) hold open the door for Jellal without question. They recognize him and are expecting his arrival.

Jellal walks through a veil of magic that detects weapons and unclasps his dagger when it glows red. A flat-faced guard is waiting to take it from him and then waves him on.

The meeting chambers are large and cavernous with many windows that look out to the city with one-way glass. Hedges crawl up them and birds settle in the branches. Jellal can hear their trilling, the room is so quiet.

He walks to the waiting pedestal and stands in front of it like he's on trial.

"Mister Fernandez," says interim Councilman Tweed. He's borrowed from Era's sister office and runs the council shrewdly. "Report?"

Jellal looks away from the birds and gives a rundown on his latest conquest, the locations of the bodies. No one had been taken alive, they refused.

Councilman Tweed nods once in affirmation. He isn't soft like members of the old council had been and he doesn't scold Jellal in his tactics. He believes if swifter action had been taken against their enemies, the council wouldn't be in shambles now. Jellal is of a mind to agree with him.

"I've also had disturbing news," Tweed continues. "Louis Hemming and Irving Grog have been found dead. Hemming was found in the alley outside the council building, stabbed through the heart, and Grog was in the street, surrounded by people. And before you suggest it was an accident, his body reeked with magic." Tweed sits forward and eyes Jellal intensely. "This is the third time bodies have been discovered. We cannot ignore it any longer, Councilmembers and their associates are being targeted."

Jellal does what he can to look surprised. "That's unforgivable." That these men walk free while Erza is tormented. He will hold every one of her demons steady so she can jam her sword through their hearts. And then he will lay down himself if it means her night terrors subside.

"I will give you every resource you deem necessary, just find the murderer, Mister Fernandez."

Jellal nods. Tweed's dismissed him, but he doesn't move yet. "Councilman…"

Tweed looks down on him from on high. His beard is bristly and big, more grey than brown these days, and his fingers are sausage-like and unusually rough for a man that spends his days signing papers. "Yes?"

"Have you considered my application?"

"We're in review now, Mister Fernandez." A woman to Tweed's right speaks. Jellal desperately tries to remember her name. She is also on loan and is usually content to listen quietly while the other councilmen debate. They listen to her when she speaks, likely because she does it so infrequently.

Tweed is a glorious shade of apricot pink. "Now isn't the time, is it? When you're supposed to be hunting a killer."

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid if I leave it, you'll ignore my bid." He bows slightly to add to his contrition.

Tweed's shade darkens. "It is highly unusual for an ex-criminal to seek entry to the magic council."

His words are designed to cut and prod but Jellal has called himself worse things than Tweed could possibly throw around during polite, political conversation. "These are highly unusual times. I think I would be an excellent contribution to the magic council, especially with the might of my elite force standing behind me."

"Your criminal's guild?" Tweed scoffs. "They work for whoever pays."

"I pray you don't try that theory on your own. It was annoying rallying them to my cause once, I would hate to have to hunt them down again." Jellal speaks to the clean beds of his nails. His hands are a little ragged after weeks on the road, nails broken too short, a gash across his left palm. He didn't feel it when he had Erza in his hands but now the skin is hot and inflamed.

"This sounds suspiciously like blackmail," Tweed says. His whole neck is red now. It doesn't take much to elevate his blood pressure. Jellal's worried one day, he'll drop dead from an aneurism or a heart attack.

"Not at all," Jellal responds innocently. "I'm merely telling the truth. Crime Sorcière is a ragtag bunch with their own minds. The unfortunate truth is, I'm their unifying factor. Without my influence…" He doesn't actually think they'll all turn to criminality overnight, but he knows better than most the urge runs deep.

"We'll send word to you as soon as we're able," the woman says again. Her name hits Jellal. Verity.

"Thank you." He bows respectfully and makes his exit. He can hear the remaining councilmembers arguing over his bid to become one of them again and they're right to be wary. He destroyed them last time. Why should this time be any different?


	3. Chapter 3

Grey clouds hang so heavy in the sky, Erza thinks she can reach up and touch them if she tried. Beside her, Natsu is eyeing a sausage stall, Lucy is eyeing him, Happy is eyeing Lucy eyeing Natsu, and Gray has a dreamer’s pout on his expressive mouth. There is no telling what he is thinking of, hitting Natsu or the last time he laid with a girl—he wears the same expression for both. It’s part of what Erza likes about Gray. He’s almost always apathetic.

They pass a narrow alleyway smelling violently like piss and rot. A jester crown is painted on the puckered brick, catching Erza’s attention. She slows and her party follows suit. Happy chatters on about some nonsense, oblivious to the change in atmosphere until Erza skewers him with her eyes like a shrimp on a stick. Then he quiets and sees what she has. His eyes get big.

“He’s mocking us,” Erza announces in the silence. Jester Crang has been stealing into people’s houses and swiping rare (and forbidden, unfortunately) magical articles, either with the intention of selling them at auction for ridiculous prices to men and women unsuited to carrying them or overthrowing the country, it’s hard to say.

His calling card is this graffiti, the crown with _Crang_ scrawled under, left at the scene of every crime.

Natsu tips his nose up and sniffs. “Paint’s fresh.”

His words set Erza’s heart speeding in her chest. “He’s nearby then.”

Everyone but cautious Lucy comes alive, sliding apart without direction.

“We should have a plan,” Lucy chirps.

“The plan is you go with Gray,” Erza instructs. She has her own designs for Crang and wants to be on her alone. She has no idea if she can outwit Natsu’s nose, but she is willing to try.

“Come on, Lucy.” Gray’s already several paces ahead of her. Lucy narrows her eyes and grabs her keys as she starts to run after him, displeased with the pieced together plan but wise enough not to go against Erza’s wishes, at least not then. Erza fully expects to hear Lucy mumbling that night about ‘walking around all day aimlessly, not using their time to plan, then charging into a fight.’ She is not actually _that_ grumpy about it, Erza knows. She complains a whole lot but when push comes to shove, Lucy is like the rest of them, living with her fingers on the pulse of impulsiveness.

Natsu races headlong down the alleyway. The other side pops out on Peace Street, home of some of Fiore’s best butchers. Erza grinds her teeth together, taking a moment to stare after him, wondering if he will find their culprit first. She looks at the jester crown again. Something about it bothers her.

It is so high up, she realizes. Too high for a normal man to reach. _Levitation magic?_ she thinks.

In a blink, Erza changes into her Heaven’s Wheel armour. Her wings gather air beneath them and deposit her on the roof of the building. She hears a wispy gasp behind her. She spins on her heel and spots their quarry, jester hat and all, except it’s not quite what Erza expects. Crang is a she, not a he.

She is as thin as a weed. Her ribs and hips poke against her black bodysuit and her arms are like sticks. One good whack with the flat side of her sword and Erza would break this girl’s bones. But when she turns toward the opposite side of the roof, the ends of her jester hat wobbling on her head, she is fast.

Erza resists the urge to yell. Best not to draw attention. Her eyes narrow in on what is in the girl’s hand—a black cube the size of a small watermelon. Its surface is a swirling grey mass. Erza aims one of her swords for it and it flies with a thought, as nimble as an arrow.

The blade grazes the girl’s arm and she releases the cube with an outraged crow. The darkness in Erza tells her to put a blade through her heart so she can make no more noise, but the thought passes like a cloud over the sun and she is herself once more, or as much as herself as she can be these days.

Erza crosses the distance between them with two leaps and a flutter of her armour’s wings. The girl makes to pick up the cube again. She is bleeding heavily. Erza uses the flat edge of her blade and pushes the girl back, back, and then she’s cascading over the side of the building. Erza rushes to the edge to watch.

The girl is light-footed and sure, slowing her descent using the side of the building like Erza thought. No profoundly good thief would be bested by something as mediocre as a fall.

When she hits the ground, it is on her feet. She looks up once, expression confused. She doesn’t know if Erza meant to kill her or if she purposefully let her go, and that suits Erza just fine.

Erza adjusts one of her swords to get the girl moving. She runs, first choosing the direction Lucy and Gray went. Erza slams her sword into the ground in front of the girl, metal singing, corralling her the opposite way. And then she is gone, disappeared into the city like a rat in a gutter.

Erza turns her attention to the cube. It simmers menacingly on the rooftop, looking as volatile as a viper. Cautiously, she approaches, unsure of what to expect when she picks it up but knowing she couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. She has the magic artefact and the thief is gone. They can stay in Crocus for a while longer under the guise of searching for the thief while at night, Erza hunts her demons.

Blue and pink poke over the side of the building. Natsu and Happy.

“Erza!” Just as soon as he can, Natsu plants his feet on the building’s rooftop and runs to her side. Happy dives down street-level again, presumably for Lucy.

“Where is he?” Natsu pants. He’s red-cheeked from running around the city.

“She,” Erza corrects absently. She likes the way the cube’s bland colour changes, like smoke rising from a wet fire, cloud-white, ash-grey, and then night sky-black. “She got away.”

Natsu looks at her quizzically and Erza realizes she’s much too calm for someone who was just thwarted by a criminal.

“She’s fast,” Erza says with more of her old conviction. “I got the artefact, though.”

She knows a second before her fingers touch it that she should not use her bare hands, but she is there, and it’s there, and it’s a magnet, calling her in.

It’s made of glass and it’s cold, Erza notes, and then her mind is consumed with a new and powerful sensation. It feels like something is crawling over her skin, like maggots on a corpse, biting in, draining her.

_Not me, my magic,_ she realizes, swaying on her feet. She has time to gasp and then she feels a change overcoming her. Her mind is going blank and her skin is getting tough, and Natsu—Natsu suddenly reeks of sweat; she can hear his heart throbbing in the cage of his ribs and his blood rushing to his limbs as he gets ready for an altercation.

He moves and he’s fast, too fast for stunned Erza. He slaps the cube out of her hand. It falls to the rooftop once more and rolls in the gravel before settling down.

Tremors wrack Erza’s body. Her teeth chatter and her head throbs with a headache. She can hardly see, she’s blind with fear. What _was_ that? And why did it do that to her?

“Requip,” Natsu orders.

Erza blinks at him, astonished.

“Your hands,” he says urgently with a look back over his shoulder. Happy is complaining about how heavy Lucy is and she’s cursing at him. They’ll be over the top of the building in seconds. “Requip.”

Erza looks down and sees what he means—her nails are curled claws; her hands are hard and scaled. She is her mother’s daughter, the one she tries to pretend doesn’t exist. She does what Natsu suggests without blurting all the questions she longs to, changing back into her Heart Kreuz where her gauntlets will cover the lagging transformation.

Happy’s head crests the rooftop first, then Lucy’s. Gray comes up behind them, using his own magic to make a stairway. They’re all bickering and the sound of it sets Erza on edge. She looks furtively at Natsu and is shocked to see he looks collected, far more collected than her. His eyes are on the cube, not on her covered hands, and the only thing to give him away is the incessant tapping on his hands on his legs.

“Is that it?” Lucy asks, forgoing her argument with Happy to Happy’s displeasure. “But where’s the thief?”

“She got away.” Erza’s relieved her voice doesn’t quake.

“Damnit. Which way did she go?” Gray walks to the edge of the building and looks out over the city as though he can pick her out in all the bustle.

“North, I think,” Erza lies.

Lucy isn’t listening to either of them, her eyes are fixated on the cube. “I thought we were looking for a magicked lyre?” She takes a few steps closer and reaches for it. “No one said anything about a Praemo cube.”

“I don’t think you should touch it,” Natsu warns her, calm exterior cracking for just an instant.

Lucy looks up as though torn from a trance. “No, no of course.”

Erza’s dying to ask what a Praemo cube is, but she doesn’t want the answer with Natsu and the others around. She suffers in tense silence, hoping Natsu will be too oblivious to care.

Happy dashes her hopes. “What is it?”

Lucy pins her bottom lip between her teeth as she gets down on her hands and knees and blows at the side of the cube like she’s blowing away sugar dust. The grey smoke clears inside, and Erza can see from one side to the next. There’s a creature inside the glass walls, small and horned and sickly looking, and not just because its skin is sulfur yellow. It huffs and its small chest rises and falls thinly as though it cannot get enough air to breathe. Its feet are hooves and instead of hands, it has sharp-looking claws, good for digging and cutting.

“What is that thing?” Erza asks despite herself.

“A type of demon called a Rylo.” Lucy is so soft; she looks like she’s going to cry as she looks up at Erza. “They were discovered by a researching mage half a century ago. He was trying to think of ways to store magic using lacrima and came across these guys while he was mining.”

“They store magic?” Natsu joins Lucy on his knees, scrutinizing the little demon like he would a frog.

“Sort of,” Lucy says. “They can memorize a person’s magic, for a time, and call on it when they’re told to, wielding it for their masters. Some say it’s because they live so close to the lacrima. See here?” She points to runes on the cube Erza hadn’t noticed before. “These runes keep him trapped in here and bound to obey whoever scrawled them.”

“He’s a slave.” Erza sees the Tower of Heaven when she blinks, its huge, leaning spire, its bloodied floors. She can almost taste the salt and grief in the air. She addresses the demon directly. “Where did you come from?”

“They’re non-verbal,” Lucy says, dashing Erza’s hopes of finding its master and poking her sword through their heart.

“Maybe it was the thief’s?” Gray suggests. Erza starts; she didn’t hear him come up behind her. She fights to clear her thoughts of the place her childhood died.

“Could be,” Lucy said. “Or she could have stolen it. No one would report something like this missing to the police. It’s not like other forbidden magics. It wouldn’t just be confiscated; they’d be arrested for its possession.”

“We should put it out of its misery,” Erza says, drawing a sharp look from Lucy. “It’s suffering.”

Lucy opens her mouth and closes it.

“Look at it,” Erza implores. “It’s dying.” The skin hangs off its bones and its eyes are veiny and yellow. There are a row of teeth in its mouth that are black and festering; she can see the puss. And when it looks at her, it’s the same way young Jellal used to look at her, full of misery, the only thing left for him was death.

Her heart hurts and her stomach churns. She could be sick. “Besides. If we return it to the authorities, who’s to say it will be destroyed?”

Gray puts his hand on her shoulder, startling Erza again. “We can trust the council.”

She wants to scream and push him back and lay out all the bodies she’s put down, all the people she thought she could trust before they covertly sold her off and profited off her suffering.

Instead, she swallows the bile in her throat. She is outnumbered. Even Natsu looks apt to refuse her.

“Okay.”

Gray’s hand tightens on her shoulder before he releases her. She wants to know what he sees when he looks at her, but he moves around her to join Natsu and Lucy, kneeling, and she can’t read his face. She lets their words roll over her as they scheme ways to get the creature to the council without it draining them of their magic.

Finally, Gray decides that he can carry it encapsulated in ice. He slides it over the ground in front of him, ensuring Lucy that it’s humane when she protests. _Just like being in skates,_ Gray says, and Happy asks _when was the last time that demon went skating?_

No one else has a better plan, though.

Erza enters the council building with her head held high though it feels like her back is bending under the weight of her hate. She can’t help but pick out targets. Joaquin Lora at the front desk, who doctored the filed documents so no one would notice huge amounts of materials missing when it was sent to the Tower of Heaven, and there was Petunia White, Fiore’s Director of Development, who instructed Joaquin in her deception. Both have been living well since. And there was Morton Vanden, the janitor who stumbled upon Joaquin altering the documents and didn’t report her for a healthy sum.

Across the building, the Hearing Room’s doors open and a mage in Custody Enforcement Unit garb drags a shackled young boy through the lobby, fresh from trial. Erza’s blood gets cold. She knows some of the Tower of Heaven enforcers escaped and returned to their lives, has tracked down and ended two of them, but Eros, their captain, has been particularly difficult to track.

Until now. He’s here, at last. In front of her.

She can do nothing about it, though, for at that moment, an assistant waddles out of the hearing room and ushers them into an audience with the council.

Erza grits her teeth and lets Lucy do the talking, she’s good at it. It takes all of Erza’s concentration not to summon one of her swords and hunt the building for Eros so she can lop his long head from his meaty neck.

She must stand in the council’s presence for two hours, explaining again and again how they came have such an illegal piece of magic, and when they’re through, Erza’s nerves are rubbed raw and all she wants to do is return to their hotel and shower the stink of corruption from her skin.

Instead, they hunt the city for another two hours for Crang, until Lucy complains her feet are swollen, Gray says he’s bored, and Natsu claims he’s starving.

It’s still two hours after that that Erza can ditch her teammates and begin another night of hunting.


	4. Chapter 4

The moon hangs low, its glow candlelight-soft. The shadows it casts are washy and grey and it’s difficult to stay hidden in their depths. Erza presses her back to the stone of a tall building, feeling the residual heat from the sun. It’s calming, reminding her to be still and patient, that’s how she will catch her prey.

It’s been several long hours of uneventful surveillance, but finally, the council doors open and a guard exits. He’s high-ranking, Erza can see the silver on the cuff of his uniform.

He pulls on his tie and undoes the first few buttons of his shirt as he walks. Then he undoes the cuffs on his arms and rolls up his sleeves. The underside of his left arm has a tattoo that Erza can’t quite make out.

When he’s rounding the bend in the sidewalk and is about to disappear, Erza pulls away from the wall and moves to follow.

A figure steps from the shadows and blocks her way.

Erza doesn’t think, just reacts, grabbing the intruder’s wrist and swinging him into the wall with so much force, she feels the breath leave his lungs. She draws his arm up his back, intent on making him pay, but he pushes her back with his body, withstanding the pain he must feel, and slides away from her and into a slice of streetlight.

He’s wearing a mask, but Erza can see the rusty tattoo slashing through Jellal’s eye. Suddenly, she’s mad. She yanks the mask from his face so she can see him fully, so he can feel the weight of her glare. The mask hangs limply around his throat. He doesn’t even try to stop her.

“I could have hurt you. What are you doing here?” Her voice is louder than planned.

“I followed you,” Jellal admits unabashedly, and she didn’t even notice. It’s exceedingly rare that she meets her match in anything. It’s nice to know that Jellal’s skills can complement hers so well.

“Why?”

“I saw Eros when I was leaving my meeting this morning,” he admits, and Erza’s fury returns.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiles; it’s Tower of Heaven cold. “Isn’t the hunt half of the battle? Why are you here if not to fight?”

When he says battle, he means _fun,_ but won’t say. That’s good. Erza doesn’t want to think what she’s doing is fun on any level. It’s sick and it’s twisted but so are these monsters and if she doesn’t punish them, no one will, and if no one else will, who is to stop them from being led astray again? It might not be another Tower of Heaven they build, but it will most certainly be more innocent lives they ruin.

Erza looks past Jellal’s shoulder. The guard is a speck on the street ahead. “He’s getting away,” Erza says. Another twenty seconds and he’ll be gone and either she’ll ruin her chance of sneaking up on him or she’ll lose him altogether.

“Let me do this for you.”

Erza thinks she spots something wicked in Jellal’s eyes, pried free by the settling dark. It’s not hard to remember his roots on nights like these when he seems almost as possessed as she herself does. Her instincts tell her _no,_ as though entertaining him might push him back into who he used to be, but Jellal doesn’t wait for her answer. There’s a spike in his magic and then he’s gone in a burst of dark light.

A furious yell burgeons in Erza’s throat. The Council door opens again, and she works to swallow it as Councilman Tweed exits. He immediately fixes his eyes on her and she realizes she’s no longer in the shadows.

“Miss Scarlet.”

Erza works to get her words out. “Councilman.”

He looks dubiously around the street, hunting for the killer, perhaps, or wayward carriages. Not the beautiful beast ahead of him as he deems it safe and crosses to her.

“You’re a powerful mage, I understand, but you shouldn’t be out by yourself this late at night. Someone’s targeting council members and their associates, you know,” Tweed says when they’re feet apart. “You’ve been working closely with the council as of late. It would be prudent to consider yourself a target as well.”

“Yes,” she says stiffly. “Of course. Forgive me. I was just… trying to clear my head. Today’s been eventful.”

“Yes, I suppose, finding that artefact would be rattling.”

 _You have no idea_ , she thinks.

“Miss Scarlet…” Tweed draws closer. “My associates agree, this killer must be stopped at any necessary cost. There will be a bid, of course, but if your team finishes the Crang job, I’m sure you’ll be a shoo-in for this investigation.”

Erza tests the words for herself. “You want me to find your killer?”

“I can’t think of a mage better-equipped for it.” His smile is small and subdued. Erza is back in the alley, blood running across her sword’s metal, life bleeding out of Louis Hemming as fast as water drains from a sink. “You’ll put a bid in, right?”

She opens her mouth to decline, but if Master Makarov hears of it, he’ll ask why, and Erza has never been a particularly skilled liar. “I’ll discuss it with my teammates.”

“There’s a girl.” His grin gets wider, more natural. In response, Erza tries the smile she’s been learning to charm officials like Tweed. It settles on her mouth but doesn’t feel quite right. It never really does.

“Goodnight, Councilman.”

If Tweed thinks she looks like a doll with a painted smile, he gives no indication. “Goodnight, Miss Scarlet.”

Erza chooses the direction Jellal went and Tweed thankfully goes the other way. She waits until she’s around the corner, out of sight of the council building, and then she breaks into a run, chasing the smell of blood and fear. She’s left Jellal too long alone with her quarry and she’s afraid of what’s transpired.

The seconds drag out as the sidewalk and road disappears beneath her, but eventually, she spots a figure in the dark and slows. He steps out to meet her, hands at his sides, and Erza can see the sheen of blood on his knuckles. It makes her heart skip beat, first in fear, then in rage. She can’t tell if she’s more disturbed by what Jellal has done to this man, or what he’s done without her.

He must see her outrage on her face because he holds his hands up, palms to her, and says, “He’ll survive.”

And that’s almost worse. “Survive to tell Eros?”

Jellal leans in so close, she can feel the stubble on his face as it brushes by her cheek. He cups her face with his sticky hands, holding her close. The scent of iron fills her nose. His hot breath tickles her ear. “Don’t you trust me?”

More than she trusts most people. But… “This is important to me, Jellal.”

He gets closer still and his voice turns intimate and silky and it’s all wrong for the words he says but also so, so right. “By the time our man makes it back to Crocus, Eros will be dead.”

Dark thrills go through her. She realizes she’s squeezing the lapels of his black coat and rubs the material through her fingers. “Okay.”

Jellal sways into her and kisses her neck and she can feel that between his legs is stiff; her rage, the violence, all of it worms into Jellal’s blood. Likely, it’ll never let him go.

Erza desperately scrabbles for focus. “Tell me what he said.”

Jellal scrapes his teeth across her throat one last time before stepping back and reporting, “Eros is in town on a special project for the Council. He works Sunday to Wednesday, nights, off Thursday to Saturday. He has an apartment on Western, by the canals.”

Erza stands straight, her mind already ticking through which armour is the best to use on a foe like Eros. Jellal stands in her way.

“You won’t get him tonight.”

“You said—”

“It’s Wednesday.”

Erza’s heart stutters and stalls. It _is_ Wednesday. Eros is working. “What is this _special project_?”

Jellal shrugs. “Our friend didn’t know.”

She is all at once suspicious. The man Jellal cornered was a lieutenant. Why _wouldn’t_ he know what was going on? “Maybe he lied?”

“Doubtful. Whatever’s happening here, it’s big.”

“I need to know.” She’s filled with a surprising amount of anxiousness. It pushes at her chest and clouds her thoughts.

Jellal captures her shoulders between his hands and holds her steady with his unflinching gaze. “We will.”

“ _How_? Eros won’t talk when I have him.” He’s a vetted Captain trained not to break under interrogation and Erza isn’t sure she’s monster enough to do what needs to be done to get it out of him.

 _If it’s another_ special project _like the Tower of Heaven? Will you still refuse?_

She shivers, cold all over, stunned by the harsh thought and the apathetic sensation that chases it.

“I would do anything for you,” Jellal says and she knows he means it, his hands are bloody and his voice is dead, the only part of him that’s alive is the part that loves her, the part that hunts for justice and purpose.

Erza tries another smile. This one fits better.

The clocktower strikes two. It’s late. While she’s disappointed she won’t be able to catch Eros tonight, she can admit she’s exhausted. “Will you come back to my room?”

“In a while,” Jellal says. “I have some things I need to take care of first.”

Interest piqued, she asks, “What are you doing?”

He kisses her, mudding her thoughts. “Ensuring my spot on the council.”

She opens her mouth to tell him not to hurt anyone, but the words fizzle out weakly. Who is she to make commands like that? Instead, she says, “Be careful.”

Erza is as careful as she ever is when she comes back from a clandestine job, but as she climbs the lattice to her room, she realizes she’s made a gross miscalculation. Usually, Natsu does his stargazing earlier in the night and returns to his room before the moon gets low, but tonight, he’s laying on the flat roof, his bedroll tucked under his neck and his hands clasped behind his head.

He doesn’t immediately move when her feet settle on the rooftop and she thinks maybe, just _maybe,_ he’s asleep.

She inches toward the window she left open a crack and Natsu lifts a closed eyelid to look at her lazily. “Why not just use the door?”

Erza sighs. “Funny, coming from you.”

“Lucy’s words.” Natsu readjusts his bedroll and scoots over some, his invitation clear. After a moment of hesitation in which Erza entertains hitting him on the head and making a break for it to avoid whatever it is he’s going to say to her, she comes to join him. His bedroll smells like grass and road dust, his skin, and leather. It’s a comforting scent that reminds Erza of their childhood.

“What are you doing up so late?” Erza braves.

“Thinkin’.”

She knows she’ll regret asking immediately but says, “About?”

He curls his lip. “Lucy’s mad.”

She almost laughs and stands, eager to get away, but Natsu very rarely looks so torn so she remains where she is. “Do you know why?”

“I think so.”

She waits, but he doesn’t elaborate until she pushes. “Well?”

“She’s been staring at me a lot lately.”

“She stares at you a lot always.”

“It’s different.” He picks at the end of his scarf lazily, not like a man dismayed his partner is upset with him. “I told her it was different, and she kicked me out of her room.”

Erza finds herself smiling. “She probably isn’t used to men being so blunt about it.”

“If you don’t say what you mean, what’s the point of saying anything at all?”

“I guess so.”

They sit in what Erza at first thinks is companionable silence but quickly realizes is an ambush when Natsu asks, “Are you okay, after what happened earlier?”

Her cheeks feel hot and her thoughts swim. She’s thought of hundreds of explanations for Natsu’s eventual questions but now that it comes time to say them, her tongue is tied. “I’m fine.”

“Does it happen often?”

“It was the artefact, Natsu.”

He turns his head to look at her. There are only a few inches between them, and his eyes seem very, very dark. “Okay.”

 _Okay, I know you’re a liar,_ he means. She starts to protest then thinks better of it. Not talking about it is better than trying to defend herself.

“When things get bad for me and I start losing control, I think about the people I care about.” Natsu returns to looking at the sky.

Erza can feel her skin crawling with magic, with scales, with her mother’s blood. “Who else knows?”

He must smell the change in her, but he looks at her innocently. “About how hard it is to control my magic sometimes? Gramps, Lucy, Gray—”

“Natsu.”

He gets very, very serious. “I didn’t tell anyone about what happened on the rooftop. But I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“And if I don’t?” Jellal is in her mind, promising to take care of everyone that threatens her. It makes her feel sick to think about Natsu being on the other side of that threat but her secret coming out is unacceptable.

 _No,_ Erza thinks to quell the fear-fueled fire inside her. She’s bigger than this. She’s better than this. She’s not as cold and heartless as her mother, and she will find a way to be different from her.

“Then nothing,” Natsu says. He’s a bit warier than when they first began their conversation and Erza feels like a wolf that’s backed him into a corner. All she must do is reach out and snap her jaws around his throat. “Just know that I’m here.”

Ashamed of her errant thoughts, she stands and leaves him on the rooftop.

The sun is burning the horizon when Erza hears her window open. She opens her eyes to watch Jellal climb in and roll it shut again. He disappears into the washroom where she listens to him strip off all his clothes and drop them to the floor. The shower turns on and his feet slide over the metal tub.

She remains awake, thinking of her conversation with Natsu. She considers telling Jellal about it but is half afraid of what he’ll do. Nothing likely, respecting the love she feels for her friends, but maybe something terrible, and she doesn’t want to be faced with the task of talking him out of it, afraid of accepting the truth of who she is and how out of control this has become.

The bathroom door creaks open and a slice of light falls onto the floor. Jellal follows it out. He’s naked with only a towel slung across his waist. Erza watches the dusky light slide over his form as he comes to the bedside and stands over her. She wishes she knew what he sees when he looks at her like that, dreamy and disbelieving. 

Erza reaches out and tugs on the corner of the towel, pulling it off. He’s semi-erect from just standing over her and when she pushes the blankets down, letting the cold air from the room caress her bare skin, that changes rapidly.

He joins her between the rough cotton sheets, his body cool and damp, hers hot and dry, and gets on top of her. They don’t speak as he holds her face between his hands, fingers in her hair, and kisses her dizzy. For a while, she forgets about all she’s done and all she’s yet to do.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jellal wakes, it's to the sound of the screaming public, and in a blink, he's back in the Tower of Heaven, listening to the screams of children, mothers, fathers, and those with no one to notice they're missing. Somehow, they were the worst shriekers, screaming for lives wasted in the face of imminent death.

He lies in Erza's rented bed for another moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling Erza breathing beside him, steady in, steady out. She's warm and he thinks he likes this, is desperate for this life. He weights his hand on her bare hip, pulling her in, smelling the sweetness of her hair and the cream she uses on her skin to lessen the glow of her scars, some new, some old and familiar.

Then Erza turns toward him, and her eyes are open, dark brown, the colour of shadows just touched by first light. They are full of questions and he doesn't know how to answer them.

Another scream pierces the air. She sits up in a cloud of scarlet. Her body is naked and lithe, cutting through the air like one of the swords she wields. Magical light shines around her as she dresses. She's an angel; he's cast in shadow in her glow.

Jellal is slower, getting up like a regular human being and donning his clothes in an earthly fashion. By the time he's pulling his coat over his chest, Erza is out the door without a word, her concern and suspicion dashing the need for niceties. Jellal takes the window. His bones protest bending and straightening. He feels all his years and traumas in the earliest parts of the morning.

Standing on the flat roof, he can see Crocus spooling out in front of him like the pattern on a quilt. Churches and pharmacies, hardware stores, bakeries, the dead body sprawled on the sundial in the centre of town.

Recently promoted Councilman Shar is easily identified by the tangled ropes of his silvered hair. He is laid flat on the sundial and splayed as though he is a hog, waiting for spitting. Blood drips from the hole in his heart.

Half of Jellal's mouth curls, the other remains flat. He is doomed to forever be a slave to duality. Sometimes, he even thinks he likes it.

* * *

"This is _number four_." Tweed is sweating as much as a horse after a gallop. He sits in the First Councillor's chair, the seats around him empty thus far. He is a birder and was already awake when news of Councilman Shar's demise reached him.

Tweed and mops his forehead with a soggy handkerchief. He dabs his reddened neck, too. Jellal wonders faintly if he's going to have a heart attack. Another Councilman, down. He bears no grudge against Tweed, though, and his death would serve no higher purpose, other than getting him out of the way.

Jellal stands below him, looking up. "A vetted member of the council this time, too," he muses. His voice is carefully neutral. Doesn't care too much, doesn't care too little. To be any other way is to invite Tweed to know him and he very much does not want that. Men like Tweed will tear you apart with any nuance of your personality you give them. They like the balance of power to always be in their favour.

"This is totally unacceptable." Tweed sputters, he's so angry. "Have you had any leads?"

"None yet."

Tweed gets angrier still. "You're supposed to be a boon to the council, Mister Fernandez, but I just find myself asking what use are you?"

"I've some insights into the victims, of course," Jellal says with just enough flare Tweed might believe that Jellal believes his position might be at risk. "It seems maybe they've all had a bit of a sordid past." He cannot help himself. _Cannot._

"Explain."

Jellal casts a surreptitious look around the room to ensure they're alone before admitting, "They've had their records expunged. Like they were all part of something they shouldn't have been."

Tweed's huffy breathing arrests. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm not sure yet. I've only just pulled the records available to the public and will need more time to investigate." He lets that sink in before continuing. "Otherwise, I've learned that our killer is careful and hasn't left much in the way of evidence. The blanked records are our only leads so far." Jellal clutches his hands behind his back, nails digging into and breaking the skin, his only tell. He wants to scream at the guilty council, and laugh, and tell them they're fools. He wants them to know they'll never win. Anyone that's made Erza cry—they'll all suffer and die. But those are the ravings of a mad man, and Jellal is desperate to seem anything but.

He swallows with his burning throat.

"It's true. Before it was brought almost to ruin, this council has had some… misdeeds," Tweed says carefully. "Is it possible this is the work of some avenging madman?"

 _Madman_ strikes Jellal like a hammer blow and he wants to smile but refrains. "Anything is possible, Councilman. To progress, I'll need access to any sealed records the council may have on the victims, and I'll need to review the other councilmembers," he tags on innocently. "Preferably, without their knowledge, in case there is something they want to hide. They'd only be getting in the way of my investigation for the sake of their vanity."

"And you want this information to protect them?" Tweed digs.

"If they're in need of protecting."

Tweed swipes his hands over his soaking face. "You're asking me to betray their privacy."

"I'm asking you to help me save lives." Jellal catches Tweed's eyes and holds his gaze, trying to convey a sincerity he just doesn't feel.

"If some of their transgressions are brought to the light, we could be destroying careers, families."

 _I'm counting on it._ "Anyone hiding a crime serious enough to destroy their career and their family might not deserve to have those things, don't you agree, Councilman?"

His eyes flash like sharp bits of metal, ready to cut. "Don't forget, Mister Fernandez, you're carrying sin as well."

Anger bursts through Jellal. "I'm atoning for them every time I'm sicced on a dark guild too dangerous for the council to send their precious Enforcement Unit." Unintentional bitterness leaches into his voice and it satisfies Tweed as nothing else can.

"I'll consider granting you clearance," Tweed says.

Jellal's blood throbs in his ears for a new reason. _Granting you clearance._ The only people that have clearance to sealed records are councilmen. He closes his eyes in a slow blink to hide the nervous sick pride he feels. He hasn't won yet, but he's _winning._ It's the same thrill he felt moving chess pieces in the Tower of Heaven, sitting on his throne, a king of nothing much, but a kingdom _within reach_.

_You are not that man. Not any longer._

It seems fruitless to remind himself of such things. Of course, he isn't that Jellal anymore, but that Jellal is still part of him, and sometimes, it is undeniably fun to resurrect him on occasion. That Jellal knew how to manipulate and play these games of politics and murder, and he played them well.

"The public is starting to ask questions, I've had to advertise the job," Tweed continues, unaware of Jellal's exultant crisis. "Magical guilds will flock to win the bid. Of course, I'd like to handle it quietly, but we're under scrutiny, you understand, people are talking, and the public will expect action."

"Of course," Jellal murmurs.

Tweed hands down his decree with the air of a king handing out a life sentence. "Assemble your guild and find the killer before this job can make it to tender."

Jellal smiles as though he's in control again, though, in truth, it's a rope slipping through his fingers. "I will be enough to solve your crime for you."

Tweed gawps. "Excuse me?"

"My guild sent word this morning, they're very close to finding their quarry. It would be a waste to pull them off their job now."

Tweed slaps his hand on the desk in front of him, a man used to being obeyed. "This is nonsense. Bring them to Crocus _now._ "

Jellal shakes his head, a man not used to following orders. "We're close."

"And a councilman is _dead._ "

"And children are being sacrificed," Jellal remains impassive. "I understand _you're_ from that region, Councilman. You have a granddaughter living there, don't you?"

Tweed's red face goes white as he understands the implications.

Jellal's voice turns low; he feigns friendly concern when really, it's a barely contained threat. Tweed _can_ be removed. "It's difficult balancing what's right for the country and what's right for your family, but in this case, you can do both. Let my guild finish their job and I will work here, finding your killer."

"Yes. Yes, you're right," Tweed eventually agrees. Jellal catches himself in a wicked smile and smothers it before Tweed can identify it as victorious.

* * *

The body isn't mutilated or desecrated. The kill is terrifyingly efficient. Just like hers. There is a single hole through the heart, that pokes out the other side, the only indication of incredible rage. Erza doesn't like looking at it; it's a monument to all her sins. She's awakened a killer. But she looks at it anyway.

Lucy is too afraid to come into the morgue and Gray and Natsu are taking turns trying to see who can comfort her more. Natsu's tactics are clumsy but wholesome, Gray's smooth and this side of bad. Erza imagines herself in Lucy's position and knows who would freeze her heart dead, as someone who always seems to love good, bad things, but she is not Lucy. Lucy will turn her face to the fire.

Erza feels the world warp and braces for an unpleasant altercation as her mother steps from nowhere. The door at the front of the morgue has disappeared, the windows, too, turning grey and monotoned, like painted concrete. No one can enter this room, no one can leave without her mother's permission. How very tasteless of her.

Eileen whistles. "Another one returned to the earth. You must be running out of bodies, Erza. What will you do afterward?"

Erza doesn't bother telling her Councilman Shar wasn't _her_ kill, though he was on her list. Recently promoted, he was a captain in the Fiorian military, steering the ships to the Tower of Heaven and drowning any of his crew that thought to protest. His body count is almost as high as her own.

"Rest." Erza turns her back on the councilman to face her mother, though she doesn't much like looking at her. She sees herself in her mother's eyes and her coldness in her mother's smile. She wonders if her blood has always been poisonous. Her father was a devil of a man and her mother a dragon. _How could I hope to be anything but a beast?_

"People like you and I, we never rest, daughter. You'll climb this mountain and you won't die on it. You'll move to the next crusade. Anything to keep the blood flowing, because we're _killers_ , you and I." Her red mouth pulls into a vicious smile.

"You may be my mother, but you know nothing about me," Erza maintains.

Eileen shrugs, her pile of scarlet hair sliding across her bare shoulder. "Whatever you need to believe."

Erza narrows her eyes, antagonized but refusing to play. "Why are you here?"

"To help you, of course." Another wet, red smile. "Your thief is striking a home in the West Shores this evening. I thought you'd like to be there to catch her when she does."

Erza is reluctant to ever accept help from her mother, usually, it leads to havoc, but she's warier now more than ever. "How do you know?"

"I enchanted the shoes that Crang wears, to make her silent and fast. And her gloves, too, for light fingers." Eileen waggles the knives she calls hands. "Sometimes, people open up when they return for a recasting."

"She's been paying you?" Erza asks, enraged. "You've been spelling her equipment to aid her in thieving?" Somehow, that makes sense to her. Her mother is always a thorn in her side, why _wouldn't_ she be involved with this two-bit thief?

"Many people pay me," Eileen says casually.

Another thought strikes Erza. "Did she tell you who she's working for?" She'd like to chase Crang for a while yet, bide her time in Crocus because once they finish up here, she'll have no more excuse to stay and monitor the councilmembers. _Unless, of course, you put a bid on the job Tweed mentioned._ How ridiculous would it be that she hunt _herself_ for the councilmembers?

She's divided, however. Catching Crang will shorten her time here, but the girl is undeniably causing mayhem, stealing forbidden artefacts for whoever employs her. Erza reminds herself once again, she's walking the razor edge between justice and depravity. She needs to keep her balance.

Eileen holds up one clawed finger. "What's the fun if I told you that?"

"I'm not _here_ for fun." She worries about the body lying prone behind her and what it means. Is this Jellal's way of ensuring his place on the council? And did Natsu catch his scent when they first walked in? And if they _do_ take the councillor's job, will her team discover the truth behind the murders? Will they understand?

Erza knows immediately the answer is _no._ How could they understand? They've never been this fragmented and enraged.

"We're all here for fun," Eileen counters. "You'll do better to remember that." The air starts hazing around her. Erza feels the weight of her magic settle on her like the air of a cold, clammy fall day. It makes her feel sick for an instant, and then she's gone and Erza can breathe again.

She clutches the side of the slab, feeling it shake under her hand with the remnants of her mother's spell, the body jostles grotesquely. In the hallway, Lucy is sobbing in a high-pitched, worried tone. Fear lances through Erza. She pulls a sword from the air and rushes out of the suddenly-visible door.

Natsu is on his knees retching there on the ground. Gray is looking at him disparagingly and Lucy is tittering, frantic because she doesn't like to see him sick, and is scared by the suddenly shaking earth.

The spell fades and the ground stops its wild rumbling.

"What was that?" Happy asks, wide-eyed.

"I think it was an earthquake," Erza says. She isn't even lying, imagine.

"I can't believe how weak your stomach is, man," Gray grouses.

"It's not fair," Natsu wails.

The coroner comes out of the back where she'd been preparing for her autopsy. She looks at their ragtag band, the sword in Erza's hand and the mess on the floor, confused and piqued. "What are you doing here?"

"We got turned around," Erza lies, earning herself a reproachful look from Lucy, who never lies about anything, especially her motives. Today, this _instant,_ Erza doesn't have such qualms. In fact, she's lied to them all. She told Lucy and the others they were invited here by the police to look at the body under the guise of helping them solve the crime committed just outside of their hotel. "Sorry."

"You—wait—" the coroner starts as Erza rushes past and up the stairs. She hears her team galloping up behind her and the coroner's continued protests, though she remains where she is at the bottom of the stairs.

Erza swivels on her team once she's out in the open, defensive, as though they'll be foolish enough to argue with her. Only Lucy is.

"We should have cleaned up." Lucy's cheeks are red, and her hair is a mess.

"There was no time," Erza says. She inflicts urgency into her tone, hoping Lucy won't ask too many questions.

No such luck. Lucy is nothing _but_ questions. "Why did you say we were invited down there by the police when _clearly,_ we were not?"

Erza casts a furtive look to the side. She feels like a tiger caught in a cage. She wants to break free, but she'll just hurt her friends if she does. She leans on the truth, it's what Erza of Fairy Tail would do. "I lied."

"Yes, I see that," Lucy snaps. " _Why_?"

Erza draws a deep breath. "Because last night I took a walk to clear my head." Natsu's eyes break to hers. She feels their weight like needles pressing against her skin, threatening to break the surface. What's tumbling through his thoughts? Their meeting on the roof? Their talk of Lucy? Or their discussion of the magic Erza is barely containing?

But she's not here to talk about any of that.

"I ran into Councilman Tweed. He told me some disturbing news. Someone has been targeting councilmembers and their associates. He's urged us to bid on the job once we're through with Crang. I wanted to see for myself what we're up against before we did anything rash."

Lucy grumbles about sensibility and _talking_ to people.

"This won't be like any job we've done before," Erza insists. She's still under Natsu's scrutiny. How much does he know? Too much about everything. Her back itches. Her skin. All over. She wants to whirl on him and demand he speak. She wants to shake the truth out of him. She wants to tell him everything and beg him for forgiveness. That might imply she'll stop her crusade, though, and she will not, not until there is justice in this world. "I needed to stretch the truth. I didn't want to suggest a job we couldn't handle."

"We can handle anything anyone throws at us," Gray says valiantly.

"I can't handle dead bodies," Lucy protests, raising her hand.

"I can't handle this taste in my mouth," Natsu says, breaking the tension. "Can we talk about this back at the hotel? After I brush my teeth?"

"We shouldn't talk about _anything_ until we've found Crang," says Erza. "I think I might have a lead. Councilman Tweed suggested wealthy merchants were collecting magical artefacts in the West Shores area. We should scout there tonight." Another stretch of the truth, but she couldn't tell them about her mother or her involvement. It was just another thing they wouldn't understand.

Hope sparks Lucy's eyes. "Finally! Something to go off."

Erza says a silent apology to her. She feels a new set of eyes on her. She follows her instincts and raises her gaze high. She catches a glimpse of dark eyes, watching her. Jellal is as silent as a predator and three times as deadly. The idea that he's _hers_ makes her knees weak and her heart beat with something akin to rage. How dare he overstep like this? Shar was supposed to be hers. But he's gone now, and there is one less evil in the world. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a HOT MINUTE. Sorry. I got tied up trying to finish the trilogy I've been working on since… 2016. GOOD NEWS! It's done. (now edits ) anywho. If you follow me on IG or Twitter, you'll see that I've released the second book in said trilogy, and that I've very recently (a couple days ago) got my printed copies in. Yay! It would be real sick if you supported my love for writing by buying a copy if you can afford it in these trying times. Hit me up in my DMs if you're interested.
> 
> Otherwise, this story is for lovely Eleeka. It's a request she made through Pat reon where she gets access to fun stories I haven't shared with anyone else, and gets to request stories of her own, like this little gem. If you're interested in following me there, it’s Kaitlin Corvus.
> 
> Thanks so much everyone that has reviewed. I see some familiar faces in the comments and I'm so happy to have you back!
> 
> Be safe, safe, safe everyone. Ily.


	6. Chapter 6

"I can't believe this is even up for discussion." Councilman Wolfheim's voice drifts through the council building unhindered. His advanced volume makes it easy for Jellal to eavesdrop even without the amplification spell he cast on his person. With it, it sounds as though Wolfheim's screaming in his ear. Jellal winces. If anyone were to pass by, it would seem for no reason.

The day has yawned, Erza is off on another hunt for her thief, and he is here in the Records Room, trying to find more targets for her while the council members have a private meeting half the building away to discuss his bid for Councilman

"We haven't had much competition for councilmembers," Tweed says in a more reasonable volume. Reluctance oozes out of his tone. He doesn't want to have this discussion with his fellow councilmembers and he especially doesn't want to have it about a criminal as well-known and detested as Jellal Fernandez. But Tweed is right—the Magic Council now has a stigma, and no one wants to join for fear of finding themselves at an untimely end or simply just having their reputation sullied. One bad apple rots the bunch.

Wolfheim crows, "That isn't to say we invite a criminal into our midst!"

Jellal winces again and pulls further away from the room and closer to the vault that hides the records he needs, mostly to tease himself. He can't get in there. He would be hard-pressed to even break that magical door down with all the force of his magic. He needs three councilmen to open it. Himself included.

"You haven't made much noise. What say you, Jura?" Jellal can almost see Wolfheim's face as he poses the question—challenging, disagreeable. He expects Jura to side with Tweed and is primed to call him an idiot for doing so.

Jura is quiet for a long time. "I worked with Jellal during the Nirvana incident," he says finally. "He was willing to give his life to save our kingdom. If we're to replace councilmembers, I think it would be wise to replace them with someone of his conviction."

That isn't exactly a bid for his placement, but it is as close as Jellal can hope.

"Unbelievable!" Wolfheim cries. He's like a teapot reaching a boil, popping off explosively at odd intervals. Jellal again winces over his volume. "You've all gone mad! He's a criminal! He's enslaved people! He murdered his childhood friend and tried to resurrect the Black Wizard! For all we know, he's the one slaughtering our councilmen in the street! We have a word for that where I'm from. You might know it! _Unstable._ Need it in a sentence? That man is _unstable._ If you elect him as a council member, he will destroy us again. Mark me."

Silence follows Wolfheim's proclamation. Tweed is the only one brave enough to break it. "Once we were twelve, now we are six. Some in the kingdom are saying we're irrelevant. We need to bolster our ranks. All in favour of electing Jellal Fernandez as Seventh Councilman?"

Rooms away, Jellal stares blankly at a thin file that reads _Verity Singer_ , listening to the rustle of robes as councillors lift their hands.

"And against?"

More shuffling.

"Sir?" asks a small voice, tone suggesting a prolonged inquiry. That isn't in the council chambers. That's here, in the Records Room. Jellal turns and finds a young woman standing in the doorway. She's looking at him like she recognizes just who he is. A madman. A killer. "Is everything alright?"

He realizes he's crushed Verity's file and folded it nearly in two. Jellal swallows; his throat feels like sandpaper. "Yes. Sorry. I—forgot myself."

Her eyes are wide. He can almost see the rumour blooming in her thoughts—Jellal Fernandez is prone to psychotic fits, staring blankly at a piece of paper and crushing it until there's nothing left, as though it were a throat. He probably maims animals, too.

Jellal tries a smile. "Excuse me." He puts Verity's file back where he found it and excuses himself. The woman hurries to move out of his way as though he's on fire.

By the time he makes it past the council room, the door is opening on their meeting. Two guards step out first, and then the rest of the councilmembers. Wolfheim is in the middle of the crowd and spots Jellal and his expression twists, as though he were a spot of grime on a white background.

No one says anything to him, solemn and at odds with each other. Wolfheim cuts right to the Men's room. Jellal bypasses them all and enters the chambers. Tweed is still sitting on his pedestal. He's staring down Jellal as though he's been expecting him.

"No robes for me?" Jellal greets.

"We're at an impasse. Our vote is divided equally, three for your bid, and three staunchly against."

Which is way better than what Jellal was expecting. "I see."

"We're meeting again tomorrow to discuss it further."

"And in the meantime?" Jellal asks. "Will you open the records for me?"

Tweed's brows draw down in annoyance. "You know I cannot."

"Then I suppose more people will die." Jellal knows how dramatic it is when he swings his cloak from around his ankles and stalks out but he's hoping it'll put some fire under Tweed's heels.

* * *

It's dark by the time Jellal feels safe enough to move around the city. He thinks of Erza as he passes by a jester crown painted overtop of the name _Crang._ He has no doubt she'll catch her thief. He just wishes he could be beside her when she does. Watching Erza work is like watching a wolf hunt. Each of her movements promises violence.

A thrill goes through Jellal as he imagines her sword bare against his throat and pure fury sparking her eyes. The day she hunted him through the Tower of Heaven was the best day of his life. When his memory returned, he was most ashamed of that one, but admittedly still covets it when he's alone or lonely. He always knew he was in love with Erza Scarlet. He just didn't know how ruthless she could be or how much more he would love her for it. It's the same way he felt when she told him she would kill everyone that profited off the Tower of Heaven.

Between his legs is tight. He wants Erza _now._ Her hair sliding through his fingers, her thighs spread around his hips, her humid breath breaking across his neck as she scratches, bites, and bruises, just as he likes.

He breathes deeply and thinks about the mission at hand. He can't be distracted. He needs to be charming and manipulative and coy all at once, not mindlessly blind by all of Erza's wiles.

The city falls away and the country comes into view. Jellal clings to the darkness of the ditch, where the trees overhang the road and cast their deep shadows. He goes for long minutes, stepping over fallen branches and toeing through piles of leaves, silent as an assassin. Eventually, a driveway cuts through the trees. Jellal angles down it, not trying to hide his movements anymore.

Wolfheim lives in a home too rural to be called anything but a cottage, but too ritzy to quite fit that description, either. He takes great stubborn pride in all his things, his beard, his manicured nails, pressed clothes, and shined shoes, and, of course, the optics of his home. Once the trees open, Jellal can see its yard is groomed within the very inch of its life. When he looks at it, he feels nostalgic for something he's never known. Something he'll probably never know. But something he _wants_ to know. A home. Property. Privacy.

He bides his time, looking at the shaded windows and the short man bustling around behind them. He's furious all the time, Wolfheim, but here, at home, he waters his indoor plants with a calm and steady hand, prepares his dinner with the air of a man used to cooking for himself.

Jellal climbs the stairs. He feels the councilman's eyes on him and instead of knocking, takes a seat on one of the cushioned chairs under the porch. His hands long for something to do. Fussing with the sleeve of his cloak is a guilty man's game, though. He puts his hands in his pockets and leans back against the chair, waiting.

A moment later, the front door opens and Wolfheim exits with a coffee in his hand. He sits beside Jellal and if it weren't for the cold air seeping off the councilman, it is almost companionable. "Mister Fernandez."

"Councilman."

"To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Jellal smiles; it's his Tower of Heaven smile and he can't reshape it, no matter how he tries. "I've always liked how direct you were, Councilman."

"Then you'll appreciate me saying I don't enjoy unsolicited visits. Especially from men like you."

"Men like me." His smile only grows. Wolfheim shrinks back an inch, his only tell. "We're terrible. But men like you thrive because of men like me."

Wolfheim faces him directly, affronted. Jellal remains looking forward. "What are you insinuating?"

"Your bid for councilman was first considered after the Tower of Heaven incident," Jellal begins. Even saying _Tower of Heaven_ gives him jumbled nerves. He feels the Jellal that cast Simon to death calling from the yawning pit. And he needs to reach in, brush fingers with him, to get things done. The goal is to not trip inside, though. He's flirting with the deadliest part of himself. He can't remember the last time he felt so good. "You took advantage of tragedy to get your foot in the door."

Wolfheim sputters. "I got this position on _merit._ "

"You got this position because Ultear and I defected from the Magic Council, making an opening for you. You levered yourself up on the idea that the Council needed a member whose history they knew, and it was thanks to us that they considered you despite your frequent outbursts and uncontrollable rage."

Wolfheim stands in front of Jellal and forces him to meet his eyes. He is made entirely of defiance, this small man. "If I raged so frequently, why on earth would they consider me?"

The answer is simple, if not mean. "Desperation. And, I suppose, they didn't know about the incident on Sunburst Island."

Wolfheim goes as red as Tweed fronting an outburst. "How dare you?"

"How dare _you_ ," Jellal returns. He pauses for dramatics and it flares out his bluff. Once, Wolfheim worked for the Government as a mage liaison on the remote Sunburst Island, trying to quell an oncoming rebellion against the mainland. He was posted there for two weeks before he was mysteriously transferred back to Crocus. Jellal knows none of the details, but he doesn't have to. Wolfheim's shame speaks for him. "History is _history,_ though. We all know that. It belongs buried in the past _._ "

"What do you want?" Wolfheim asks warily.

Jellal allows himself to take his hands from his pockets and straightens the cuffs of his coat. One nervous flick, and that's all. "I will be good for the Magic Council." Wolfheim opens his mouth in protest; Jellal speaks over him. "Tomorrow, it will go to vote again, and you should consider changing your stance."

Wolfheim's eyes go beady. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all, Councilman," Jellal turns his full smile on Wolfheim, letting him feel how cold he is. How utterly little he thinks of this man's life. Wolfheim's lived like a vulture and benefitted off suffering, just like Jellal. He barely deserves this nice house, the respect of his peers. "I just think you should do the right thing. For our country. Our mages." _For me._

They're in a deadlock, Wolfheim seething and Jellal cool; he half expects the councilman to shapeshift and squash him into the ground, bury him in his backyard. _The criminal defected, Councillors_ , _I told you it would happen_. No one would even question, except maybe for his guild, but one by one, they would disappear, too.

Wolfheim shivers. Jellal can _feel_ the effort it takes for him to control his violence. When he can speak, he says, "I don't know why you're so desperate to be on the council again, but know that as long as I am alive, you will _never_ be a member."

Jellal stands. "Is that your final answer?"

"Of course."

Jellal smiles cold, cold, cold. "Part of me was hoping it would come to this." He should be honest with himself, always.

* * *

The night croaks around Erza, frogs in the canals, drunks in the alley, crickets calling from the hidey holes only crickets can worm into. Bugs make her think of Eros. Her Number One. Her big target. She imagines what she's going to do to him once she catches up with him. Under the guise of stopping a nefarious plot, she tells herself she'll do whatever she has to.

In truth, slamming a sword through someone's heart is vastly different from peeling their nails back, one by one, or carving her rage into the surface of their flesh in the hopes of getting her answers. She remembers Jellal telling her he'd do anything for her. Anything at all. She believes him, of course. When Jellal Fernandez says he's going to do something, he is a man of his word, regardless of how unsavoury or horrid that promised action is.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Lucy looks up at Erza from just inches away with her large, honest brown eyes. She's retreated to Erza's side to try to find comfort from the seething night, but she'll find no warmth here, not tonight. Erza feels so turned inside out and lost. She needs to hold onto herself, but she also needs to lean so far away, she doesn't think she can recover without falling.

 _Erza is a façade,_ she tells herself. _The real Erza Scarlet? Who is that? Eileen Belserion's daughter, the Tower of Heaven's scapegoat? Crocus's monster?_

"I was just thinking of a funny joke Councillor Tweed told me," Erza supplies after too long a pause.

"Oh! Let's hear it." Natsu's already grinning.

"Uh," Erza fumbles.

"Don't tell me you forget," Gray interjects. He's looking at Erza almost the same way he looks at Natsu when he does something absent-minded and hair-brained. He's come a long way. He never would have dared look at her that way before. But they're closer than ever now, her and her team.

"Of course not," Erza replies. She draws herself up, armour squealing. "Prepare yourselves."

"Is this a joke, or a battle?" Gray swings in again.

Erza rolls her eyes at him. "What did the bison say to his son as he was leaving for his first day of school?"

Lucy's full mouth purses. One eyebrow is raised in disbelief. "What?"

"Bye, son," Erza says with a straight face.

Natsu doubles over cackling, loud and carefree. Gray studies Erza as though he can physically see the cracks in her psyche. Lucy wears a slightly amused smile. "A dad joke, really?"

"It was humorous," Erza says with as much indignation as she can muster.

"I can't really picture Councilman Tweed telling a dad joke." Lucy's smile turns a little wistful. She misses her father and his messy antics, though she doesn't talk about it. Erza wishes she didn't like that man half as much; she doesn't like to see Lucy sad.

They cross over one of the canal bridges and the West Shores comes into view. It's an expanse of beaches and wealthy merchant homes. Erza can almost _smell_ Crang on the air. Her mother's magic may make the thief stealthy, but Erza is confident she's no match for her team.

"Crang is fast but she's not invisible. We'll split up and watch the obvious points of entrance and egress to the village," Erza suggests. "Lucy, you take the waterfront, in case she comes in that way."

"I got it." Lucy closes her eyes and her magic simmers all around her. Erza finds comfort in the way it tickles her skin. Lucy's magic is beautiful and always feels like a warm blanket. When her transformation is complete, she's in Aquarius' stardress, though that spirit is lost to her. Loke steps out of thin air as well and takes to her side. Lucy's magic has come a very long way since she first joined Fairy Tail. Erza smiles.

"Long time no see, Erza," Loke says with a roguish grin.

"Don't hit on her," Lucy warns.

Loke scoffs like it's the most unreasonable thing in the world. "My heart belongs to you, of course."

Gray and Natsu both roll their eyes. They don't agree on much, but Loke's caddish ways seem to be a unifying topic.

"Gray," Erza says, ignoring Loke completely, "You stay here and monitor the canals on this side. Happy, Natsu—"

"Happy's going to stay with Gray and I'm coming with you," Natsu says before she can finish.

"I am?" Happy asks.

"He is?" mimics Gray.

Natsu's cheeks are slightly red.

"I want you watching the road coming into the village," Erza says.

He shakes his head and it's so defiant, Erza isn't quite sure what to make of it. He has a stubborn set to his jaw and a needy glint to his eye that Natsu _never_ has. She notices his shoulders are anchored in tension. "You always have all the fun," he says with so much of his usual bratty cheer, Erza would almost miss the anxiety in him. "I'm going to be there when we find this girl."

"Very well," Erza concedes even as she's plotting her escape. She doesn't want to be alone with Natsu. She was afraid of what he'd say to her before, but now she feels like a rodent in a mousetrap, willing to chew through her own arm to be free.

Natsu keeps pace with Erza's long steps. Soon, they've left Lucy, Gray, Happy and Loke well behind. Natsu stuffs his hands deep into his pockets and lifts his eyes to the heavy layer of cloud. It's going to storm soon. Erza's old injuries are aching in preparation.

"I suppose it'll be good to have your nose to sniff her out," Erza makes conversation for the sake of distracting Natsu, not because she actually cares to talk.

"She won't get away this time," Natsu affirms. His words are innocent, but he cuts a look her way and Erza wonders again if he knows she let Crang go.

Erza requips into Heaven's Wheel and lets her armour's wings fly her up to the top of the nearest building. The lights are off inside, and it has an air of abandonment any thief would find enticing. She hasn't left Natsu behind, but she has a minute of solitude that she uses to try to decide if she should bludgeon him unconscious so she can hunt Crang alone, before he clambers up behind her, more awkward, using sheer will to climb the lattice. He glowers at her for leaving him behind and Erza still doesn't have an answer.

Natsu walks a circle around the roof, sniffing the air in all directions.

"Anything?" Erza asks.

"Happy's eating fish. Lucy is already bored and is moving the water to find him more to surprise him. Loke wears too much cologne. Gray is a strong competitor, though." He quirks his mouth into a smile at his little dig, but it fades quickly; it's not so fun to razz Gray when he isn't there to be offended. "Can't smell Crang. I don't think she's been here yet."

 _Good_. Erza can see the layout of the entire village from this vantage point. She summons swords and has them at the ready. Nothing stops a perpetrator quite like a blade landing between their feet. Then they sit in silence, waiting for some movement in the quiet village.

Natsu folds his legs under his body and sits at Erza's feet. She frowns at him, but he still has his nose pointed to the sky, sniffing for their thief, so she doesn't say anything. The minutes drag on, and as they go, Natsu looks more and more uncomfortable.

"Whatever it is you want to talk about, just talk about it," Erza says eventually, deciding an uncomfortable conversation about poisoned magic and murder is more pleasurable than watching Natsu squirm like he's been hit with poison oak.

"What makes you think I want to talk about anything?" His eyes are closed, and he looks almost peaceful.

"You're always moving. You prefer to hunt your quarry and rush in," Erza reasons. "If you're here sitting with me of your own volition, there's something on your mind."

"It's nothing." Seeing a suddenly unconfident Natsu is akin to the world toppling on its head. It doesn't happen very often and when it does, Erza feels immediately defensive.

"Now."

Natsu winces and fumbles, clearly struggling for something to say. He finds something, face clearing, and spits, "I think I'm going to kiss her. Tonight."

Erza's taken aback. "Lucy?"

He cuts a covert glance her way. _Did I trick you,_ he seems to say. "Do you think it's a bad idea? Happy thinks it's a bad idea."

She unhinges her mouth but makes no noise. Natsu is looking up at her too innocent eyes and she feels the armour around her heart fracture. "I think she'd like that." Maybe.

Natsu's grin turns dopy. "That's what I said."

Erza gives him a second to say what he's really thinking. He doesn't. "I know that wasn't it."

"No!" Too loud, too fast. "That was all."

He still won't look at her. "I know when you're lying, Natsu." She can practically _see_ the sweat dripping down his temples. He squirms like a caterpillar in a bird's beak, rolling his cheek between his teeth. "Out with it."

"I trust you," Natsu blurts like he's reassuring himself.

In contradiction, Erza entertains redirecting one of her swords and threatening him with it. Nothing gets him talking like that bit of persuasion. No matter how much Natsu trusts her, though, she doesn't trust herself, depending on what he has to say next. "But?"

Natsu steals a look. His eyes are giant, dark. She sees the little boy she grew up with, and the man he's become, and the one still waiting in his future. "I just thought you'd want someone you trust close by in case things get weird again." _In case you start to turn into a dragon,_ he's too polite to say.

Erza just blinks at him. Natsu is one of her oldest friends. It doesn't even surprise her that he's willing to put himself between her and the thing that's trying to destroy her. But how does he expect to protect her when the threat he's trying to protect her from is herself?

All at once, Erza feels exhausted. She sits by his side. "Thank you."

More confident she won't hit him now, Natsu relaxes. "Is it like dragon slayer magic? Do you have dragon force?" Too much hopefulness and excitement taints his voice.

It's like she is the daughter of the Mother of Dragons. Like she _is_ a dragon. Only, she doesn't know how to be. Like if she lets it, the magic will run her over and never give her back. "I don't know what it's like," says Erza, much more subdued. Now it's her that can't look at him while she speaks. She doesn't like the idea of talking about it. It makes it seem real.

"You had scales." He still sounds awed, as though he was almost standing in the shadow of a dragon yesterday. As though he wants to be standing in it now. "And your eyes…" he trails off when he sees how distressed Erza is. "It's okay."

It's not. "I don't feel like myself when it happens," she admits. Small, scared, Tower of Heaven Erza, fighting to the surface. Erza cuts her down mercilessly.

"Maybe you're like Mirajane," Natsu ventures into the following quiet. "Dragon takeover. When the magic is gone, she's the same old Mira. It could be the same for you. How cool would it be to have a _dragon_ on our team? A little scary, too," he tags on. "But cool."

Her eyes are suddenly wet. She blinks the tears back furiously until they're nothing but stinging ghosts against her eyes. "Maybe," she says forlornly. Except, she's never seen a dragon in her life to takeover its soul. Whatever she is afflicted with, it's not takeover magic.

Natsu's shoulder bumps hers and Erza takes the support he offers, leaning into him. It's not a promise of silence, but it is reassurance.

"What does Jellal think?"

Erza's stomach drops at the mention of his name. Natsu doesn't talk about Jellal. She isn't confident everything is forgiven between them. But Natsu's a good person and he tries to see past the whole sacrificing in the name of Zeref thing.

"Does he know?" Natsu pries.

"Of course." He knows every ugly part of her. Then she asks herself, _what does Jellal think_? The answer comes to her immediately. He loves it. It's another sharp piece on her breaking armour that he can fling himself against. And he hates it because he knows Erza can't control it and she hates everything she can't control. He would cut it out of her if she asked. And he would worship it until she did.

"Is that why he's here?"

At times, she hates how perceptive Natsu is. How long has he known Jellal was in the city, crawling in and out of her window? Sneaking in through her door? Were they ever keeping it secret from him? Again, she wonders if he smelled Jellal on Shar's corpse. Or any of the other the councillors' blood on her own hands. She almost opens her mouth to ask but somehow manages to temper her more direct side.

"He's here for the council." Those words are almost like a confession if only Natsu knew what she meant. _He's here to kill all the ones corrupt. To help me put all my demons in their grave._ She longs for Eros more than ever.

Whatever Natsu is about to say in response is taken by an explosion rocking across the water and ramming through the West Shores. Waves crash against the beaches and Lucy squeals, still in the water. Natsu is on his feet so fast, Erza almost topples over, her support suddenly gone. She scrambles up beside him and spins, looking out over the water where a fire cheerily rages through the ritzy homes on the East Shores. The glow is harsh against the satiny sky.

Another smaller explosion goes off, and then a big _bang._ The sky lights up with fireworks. They spread and start to form a shape, and as the shape solidifies, Erza's frown deepens. It's a jester crown. Crang has struck again, and not where her mother said she would. Normally, Erza would pass it off as a mistake, except Eileen Belserion doesn't make those.


	7. Chapter 7

Erza requips light-weight armour and runs. She's fast. Faster than anyone when she wants to be, learned from the months spent a slave, outrunning heavy hands, only to find a worse punishment later.

She quickly outpaces Natsu, who is looking frantically for Happy, presumably, who is, in turn, looking frantically for Natsu—Erza can hear his squealing voice pealing through the night. Her boots clack loudly on the cobblestones, but the sound is still drowned out by the roar of fire raging across the river. The closer she comes, the brighter it shines, until soon she is squinting against the blaze and shrinking from the heat.

As she crosses the canal, she listens for sounds of terror. One voice calls out above the rest in all the havoc, and it's high-pitched and feminine. Erza flocks to it like a wasp after rotting fruit in the fall, furious. Hot coals spark from the two burning buildings. They hit her armour and fall harmlessly aside, for the most part. Some touch her exposed face and leave behind little stinging blisters she'll have to ointment or risk a scar.

Erza comes off the canal bridge and the wave of heat is so much, her skin pricks uncomfortably. She stays on, navigating the roads to the East Shores and toward the fire. A steady stream of people are exiting the sparsely populated area. Most of them are in their nightclothes. Some of them have children on their hips, or dogs circling at their feet. They make a barrier Erza must break through to get to the source of the trouble. Some shout warnings at her that she ignores— _don't get too close, you'll burn_. Erza Scarlet has been forged in fire.

Smoke burns her lungs and it feels like the fire has turned her hair brittle. She sweeps it back from her face. She's close now, there is nothing between her and the twin burning buildings. One is completely engulfed in flame, the other just starting to catch, an unfortunate victim of proximity.

In the glow of the fire, she spots two figures. They're standing close together, one tall and burly, built like an oak that's grown in the richest soil, that's never wanted for nutrients or sunlight, the other, thin and weak as a blade of grass that's struggled its entire life under the shade of the oak. Erza immediately recognizes both Crang, her gangly arms and spindly spider legs, and Eros, who is her exact opposite, built more like Lucy's Taurus than a man.

They struggle, Crang trying to throw herself to the ground to gain some distance between them. Eros is an unmovable force, a boulder in the spring freshet, steadfast as blows rain down on him like ice flows.

Then Eros reaches out a knotty hand and clamps it on Crang's throat. Erza hears her sputter above the impossible din, watches her legs flail as he lifts her clear off the ground.

"No!" Erza cries. She summons one of her swords with the intent of slicing through Eros' grip before he can strangle Crang to death, but the truth of his attack is so much more sinister; Erza is too slow to stop it. He uses magic on her and Crang lights up from within like a lightbulb sputtering with electricity. Then she explodes, _bang_ , a body stuffed with fireworks.

It's spectacular and horrifying and Erza cannot look away as bits of her errant thief fly, spattering Eros' smooth cheek, ruining his nice council-ready clothes, wreck his expensive leather shoes. The only thing left of Crang is aerosolized. Erza feels the red mist cling to her skin.

Black dots dance in front of her eyes. She thinks she might pass out. She bites her cheek and feels blood pool in her mouth. Her sword had crashed to the ground. Erza summons another and lets it fly. Eros moves and it slices his arm open, straight to the bone. He hisses and turns his burning eyes her way. He looks like a demon in front of the fire, the man from her nightmares brought to life. He is as awful as Erza remembers. Part of her is relieved; if he were someone sweet, she doesn't think she wouldn't kill him for his atrocities, but she thinks she'd lose sleep over it once he was lying in the ground.

"How dare you?" Erza rages.

"How dare I protect my home?" Eros returns as though he's innocent. As though she won't question him. He lets his arms fall and faces Erza directly. "How dare you raise a blade to a member of your Magic Council, Erza Scarlet?"

He knows her. Good. But does he remember chasing her through the halls of the Tower of Heaven? Her filthy shift trailing out behind her like a train? Or does he know the loyal S Class wizard from Fairy Tail? She prays it's the former. Prays with everything she has. It'll be sweeter when she kills him.

Her arms ache as scales crawl from her fingertips to her shoulders; her back. Sharp incisors cut into her lip. Erza welcomes the beast as her vision changes and focuses. Now she can clearly see the shining globs of blood and thicker things on Eros' person. He is a man built to be soaked in blood. He is sinister, beautiful, terrible. He is a man built to die by her blade. She summons two and brandishes them, the last vestige of herself that she hangs onto desperately, lest she fully becomes her mother's daughter.

"Are you sure you want to turn your weapons on me over a thief?" Eros is almost salivating. When was the last time he got to terrorize little girls? He's the kind of man that finds ways to fulfill his sick pleasure. Is that the only thing he enjoys? The thought makes Erza's fury spike dangerously. Her back pangs. She's never had wings before, but she can feel them burgeoning out of her skin. She will fly on wings made of her own body. She will tear this man limb from limb and let his pieces fall into the ocean, forgotten. She will—

"Erza!" Natsu's voice is clear as a bell, though it beats against Erza's ears flatly. She's deaf to his call. She doesn't want to hear him.

Eros is looking at her curiously. His clever eyes search for answers she doesn't have. He seems to ask _what are you_ and she wants to say _your destroyer_ but that's not the entire truth, and she wants to know just as badly as he does. She hesitates, and at that moment, she feels something solid connect with the back of her neck. Blackness swells in her field of view and her knees get weak. She's falling. Unconsciousness is trying to swallow her whole, hungry. Erza fights it just long enough to hear Lucy, Gray and Happy arrive.

Lucy gasps Erza's name as she wavers on her feet. She's going down despite everything. Natsu catches Erza to keep her from hitting her head on the ground. Erza fights to stay conscious. She feels betrayed, and she's scared for her friends. Eros is a monster. A bigger monster than she is. Even as her scales and the wings disappear, she knows its true. She can't keep herself awake, though. Her eyes close on the image of bloody Eros and the raging fire.

* * *

When Erza wakes, she's in her own hotel room and her team is crowded around her. Her face is damp, and her clothes are different, curtesy of Lucy and her celestial spirits. She can feel the magic in her garments. It's beautiful, soothing magic. She does not want to be soothed.

"Easy," Gray says as she sits up too fast. Her vision swims and her mouth waters. Her head is _pounding_. There is a lump beneath her hair the size of her fist. She glares at Natsu, who seems no worse for wear for having hit her. What a shame.

"Where is Eros?" Erza searches each of their eyes, respectively. Everyone but Natsu has the decency to drop their gaze. He's always been too confrontational for his own good.

"He's reporting to the Magic Council," Natsu says.

Erza is almost as spitting mad as she was when she saw Eros kill that girl. "You let him go?"

"What else were we supposed to do?" Gray asks.

"Take him into custody!" Erza erupts. "What do you mean, what else were you supposed to do? He killed that girl. He looked at her and he used his magic and he _took her life."_

Lucy looks at the floor. Her lashes rest thick and dark on her cheek. Her hair is a golden wave, hiding her uncertainty. "Eros says she tried to rob him and was lost to the fire."

Erza looks at her, though Lucy won't return her gaze. "Then why was he covered in blood?"

"Because you stabbed him." Natsu will look at her, at least. It doesn't seem like he thinks she's crazy, but he's not rushing to her defense, either. He's wary, walking the line between siding with Lucy, and siding with her. It hurts to be on the outside of his confidence. There was a time when there was no Lucy and it was just her and Natsu and Gray. Has she ever led him wrong?

"The council said they'd talk with us in the morning, once you recovered from your injury," Gray said to break the tension.

"My injury?" Erza repeats.

"You were hit with flying debris." Natsu says it straight-faced. She considers punching him.

"This is ridiculous." Erza kicks aside the blankets thrown over her feet and starts to stand. Lucy rushes to catch her as she tumbles forward. It's shamefully easy for her, without all of Erza's armour.

Lucy says, "You have a concussion. You need to rest."

"I need—" Erza trails off weakly. She does need her bed. She drops to it, limp as a potato sack. "He's a criminal." She feels like crying. She hates that.

Lucy strokes her hair gently, pulling Erza's head to her shoulder and lying down with her. It's nice to be in someone's hold, someone as soft and comforting and pure as Lucy. "When you feel better, we'll talk," Lucy says into her ear. The unusual thing is Erza believes her. She closes her eyes and falls asleep with the smell of Lucy's shampoo in her nose.

* * *

It's dark still when Erza opens her eyes, though she feels like a great amount of time has passed. She has to pee. Her bed is occupied by another person, but instead of Lucy, Erza sees the sapphire glow of Jellal's hair. Despite everything, she smiles as she stands.

She closes the bathroom door quietly and uses the toilet. She makes the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror as she does so (Why do people even make mirrors so low?). Lucy had washed most of the blood off her, but some still cling to the ends of her hair and her knuckles. She's so disgusted by the sight, she climbs into the shower and turns it as hot as it'll go. She tries to make it steamy enough, she can't envision Crang's untimely demise. The image splinters, digging into her mind and nestling there. The tears come but mingle with the water so Erza can't tell if they're real or not.

Finished, Erza dries and ties her hair in a towel, careful to avoid the knot on the back of her head. She isn't sticky anymore; she still feels Crang's vaporized body. She feels like a failure and hates that Eros is the one to make her feel that way. She looks at herself in the mirror and vows revenge. The woman looking back at her changes. She becomes her mother, her sharp smile, and scornful eyes. Erza stares at her for a long time without speaking.

"Darling," Eileen says. "You looked good dressed in blood."

Erza finds a way to speak past the lump in her throat. "You lied to me."

Eileen's smile remains frozen in place. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You said Crang was going to be on the West Shores, but she was in the _East_."

Eileen lifts her eyes to the right. "Did I say West?"

"Yes!"

"Oops."

"Do _not,_ " Erza hisses. "Do _not_ tell me it was a mistake."

"But what if it was?"

"You don't _make_ mistakes."

"Good girl." Eileen's smile grows. Beatific. Cantankerous.

"Why would you do that?" She knows her mother's morals are loose, but to go _this_ far? Crang, aside from being a thief, was harmless.

"Perhaps I was just trying to help you."

"Help me _what_?"

"You wanted to stay in Crocus, didn't you?" Eileen asks innocently. "Carry out your crusade?"

"What has that to do with anything?"

"Everything, from where I'm standing. Crang is now a non-issue, and after my suggestion to rob his home, Eros has revealed himself to you. You have a solid reason to hunt him and no one will tell you differently, should you come under scrutiny. Tell them your suspicions. Let them know you think you found the council's killer. Make him your scapegoat and your victim. I set up the chessboard perfectly for you. _Thank you, Mother,_ just like that trove of council fools will thank you for ending the threat to their lives _._ Likely, they won't even chastise you for putting a hole in his heart. Eros is hated. The hunter the council is ashamed of."

Erza seethes so she doesn't have to make way for the part of her that _is_ thankful, or that she's impressed with her mother's deviousness. People could have gotten hurt— _innocent_ people. "You shouldn't have interfered."

"It takes too long for you to make any moves, daughter. I'm impatient." Casually, she plays with the ends of her thick red hair. Erza's is finer, more like her fathers, and she thinks her mother resents her for that sometimes, that any part of him could be a part of her. Erza hates them both and wishes she had nothing of either in her.

_But the dragon_. The beauty. The beast. She opens her mouth to ask her mother's opinion. Every time Eileen Belserion sees Erza lose control, she has a sly smile crooked on her mouth, like she knows something Erza does not. She is the gatekeeper to that secret and it's because of that, Erza won't ask her _why_ she's afflicted so. She won't be at her mother's mercy.

"Sleep tight, my love," Eileen says, blowing a kiss Erza's way. She fades from the mirror and Erza's alone again. She looks at her form in the mirror, covered by a towel. Her shoulder is scarred from Cobra's snake, her arms from Kagura's blade. Her chest from Minerva's magic. Everywhere else, Kyouka, Franmalth, Hades, and Jellal. She loves her scars. She hates them. She can't live without them, like everything she loves and hates.

The door opens and Jellal invites himself inside. His eyes are dull and this side of lifeless. They hardly perk up when they see her like he's worried what she'll say. She is the one that is most concerned, though. She's the one that let Eros go. She's the one that let him kill yet another little girl.

Jellal fits in behind her and presses his cold lips to the edge of her chin. "Come back to bed."

"I'm restless."

"I'll be there with you."

It makes her wonder how much he knows. He's looking at her like she's a fawn about to bolt, and he, the wolf. She leans back against him, happy to look at their visages in the mirror, rather than her mother's. He is tall and wide, there are shadows in his eyes. Horrors and violence and all of it is looking directly at _her_. Peering into her. He smiles a little, without mirth or care. Cold. Jellal can be so cold. Another dry kiss is pressed to her cheek.

"We'll fix this."

So, he has heard of Eros.

"All of this."

"We'll spill more blood, you mean."

His gaze remains unwavering, cold blue locked with her eyes. Erza leans into him further. It's submission and a promise. They will spill more blood to make these atrocities in the world right again. With him standing behind her, she can believe it's alright; she's doing the right thing.

"Come." Jellal leads her away from the mirror. Erza turns out the light and shuts the door after herself. She follows Jellal to the bed, watching his muscles bunch in the moonlight as he sits on the mattress, tense beneath his skin. His body is in sync with hers, as though he's always waiting to compliment her movements. He opens his legs for her, inviting her between them when she's too restless to lay back down on the bed, on the sheets likely stained with the blood of the innocent.

"Here." Jellal takes the towel from her hair and watches it all cascade down her shoulders, as enraptured as a man watching a river of blood.

_That's all I can be sometimes,_ Erza thinks. It makes her feel powerful, in a way. She is violence, its source. Its end.

Jellal reaches up and puts his hands in her hair, letting the wet ends cling to his skin like ropes. He straightens it out across her shoulders and her chest until she is shielded in it and his fingers are buried in it. He breathes out a little too zealously. He's always loved red things. He's always loved her. Even when he forgot himself, he loved her. He never loves her more than when he's been his worst self.

"Have you done something awful?"

"I killed a man for your crusade," Jellal says with none of the blame she expects.

Erza feels like a priest, except instead of forgiving him and telling him to cleanse himself of his sins, she tells him, "We'll kill more." She still doesn't know if she should feel guilty for it. If there's something wrong with her for not.

He leans forward and presses his lips in the centre of her chest, between her breasts. The thrill that goes through her is uncontested. She loves all his broken pieces like he loves hers.

Jellal hooks his index finger in the front of Erza's towel, pulling it down against her body. His kisses get deeper, lower, his opposite hand loops around her back and slides up the bottom of her towel, touching the swell of her behind and then grabbing it firmly, pulling her into his waiting mouth. She gasps, never more pleased than when Jellal is desperate to have her this close to him. What comes next is going to be rough and raw and she is eager for the way it'll make her body ache.

Hot breath drops between Erza's breasts. She moans involuntarily; Jellal clutches her tighter, forces her to spread her legs. Erza lifts one over his hip so it's resting on the bed so he has an easier time of it. His fingers caress between her folds. He makes a low sound when he feels how wet she is. He buries two fingers inside her. Her moan turns to a gasp when he finds a spot for the third.

He would have her with the towel between them, thinking it'll be a tease, but Erza wants to feel all of him against all of her and throws the towel aside. His free hand moves across her back, touching the ends of her hair, scraping her skin with his callouses. He holds her close; there is no room between them, even to breathe, it seems. Erza loves the shortness of breath, and how little her chest can expand, crushed against his body.

Jellal's lips eagerly slide across her exposed flesh, taking her erect nipples into his mouth in turn, sucking, biting, licking while his fingers find that sweet spot and lead her into an orgasm. She shivers, clutching his hair in both hands and looking down into his wide-open eyes. There's darkness in them she can only guess at, but he directs only reverence towards her.

"I would do anything for you," he rasps against her flesh. He softens the words with a kiss, open-mouthed but brief. "Anything."

She wants to say, _I wish you wouldn't._ Her lips won't move around the words. She needs Jellal. His conviction fuels hers. She can almost hear her mother's laughter. Erza pushes it aside and forces Jellal to lie back. He props himself up on his elbows while Erza wrests his shorts over his stiff erection.

She kisses his chest, stomach, hip, and slides her mouth to the thickness of his cock. It's his turn to gasp and lift his hips, pressing into the back of her mouth. She holds him there, deep as she can take him, for as long as she can manage, moving her tongue and massaging his length. She clutches his thighs and digs her thumbs into his muscles, knowing he likes the juxtaposition of it all, pain, and pleasure. He's always been this way, she muses, even before he understood it. He never cried in the Tower of Heaven. Sometimes, he got angry when Erza cried, but he never sobbed for himself.

Jellal grabs her hair in one hand and her chin in the other, careful at first, to avoid the knot on the back of her head and to make sure she's okay with it She squeezes his thighs again in confirmation and then lifts herself just a fraction. Just enough that Jellal can arch his hips and fuck her mouth. She encourages him to be rough when he's too gently, scratches and squeezes him until she's sure she's left bruises on his skin. He only gets harder in her mouth, crying out on the brink of an orgasm.

She feels him shuddering and breaks his hold on her, coming up for air. She would love to feel him spill in her mouth but wants him to fill her up even more. He whimpers in her absence, hand going to his shaft and pumping as Erza stands over him, feeling wicked; powerful.

"Tell me what you'd do for me," Erza commands.

"Topple kingdoms and governments," he says reverently without missing a beat. "At any cost. Put a hundred people in their graves. Carve a way to the royal throne so you may pass your sword across the lazy, apathetic king's throat. Anything."

Erza crawls up the bed, body sliding across Jellal's. She thinks of the king of Fiore, how he did nothing when news of the Council's errant ways reached him, how he let slavery and worse go on beneath his feet. How she would love to make him suffer the way his people have. Getting close would be impossible if she didn't have Jellal.

She kisses him and he pushes up into her. He slides against her opening and then inside; she's slick and it's easy. Erza pushes back from him to sit up straight and looks down on him. He's still reverent, glossy-eyed, smiling faintly as he takes her hand and presses it against his throat. She squeezes as she moves on top of him, up and down slowly, relishing his body in the way he never has. He's hard lines, spare, every inch of him honed into a weapon. That weapon has been used against her in the past. She's only half afraid they'll go against each other again, for only a fool would turn their back on a sleeping wolf. There are no reformed predators. Only satiated ones.


	8. Chapter 8

Jellal is gone again when Erza wakes. Sometimes, it feels like her lover is a ghost, an illusion, something she dreamed up after the Tower of Heaven incident. The only reason she knows it's not true is Natsu's mostly contained resentment toward him. She isn't a fool—they're civil, yes, but if that's ever broken and they clash again, they'll likely destroy one another.

She rises. Her head still spins but the knot has gone down some and she can stand and walk without falling apart.

She's using her magic to change clothes when someone taps on the door. Lucy comes in before Erza can invite her. She looks sheepish when she sees Erza standing in the centre of the room.

"I thought you'd still be asleep."

If she listened to her body and didn't push herself so hard all the time, maybe she would be. "I'm ready to see the council."

Lucy bites her lip white. "Are you sure, Erza?"

And not, _are you sure you want to go through all that hassle when you don't feel well_ , but _are you sure you saw what you thought you saw?_

"I know what happened," Erza bites.

Lucy of old would shrink away from her. This one puts her chin out and nods. "If you say so, then I believe you."

Her unwavering faith is what makes Lucy such a good friend. Erza would smile on any other day, tell her she's amazing, pull her close. Today, she can't drum up the words and is thankful only when Lucy falls into step behind her.

"The boys are already at the Council," Lucy says as they walk. "Apparently, someone killed another Councilman last night. Wolfheim. It was terrible."

Erza trips on her own feet and nearly goes down.

"Careful!" Lucy catches her and pulls her close so they're walking shoulder-to-shoulder, Lucy's arm around Erza's waist and Erza's around Lucy's shoulder.

"Sorry," Erza mutters.

"Don't apologize," Lucy lightly scolds.

"Tell me about the Councilman."

"I don't know very much." Lucy holds open the door for Erza, letting them out into the cool morning air. The sun is just humping over the horizon. Few people are on the street but those that are, stare, and Erza determines she must look a wreck. Her hair hasn't even been straightened. There is no time for vanity; the world needs to know of Eros' transgressions immediately. When she was a child, she was too weak to do anything about him. Now she is grown, and she has the words to run her accusations.

Lucy speaks again, drawing her wandering thoughts. "I only know he was found in his home this morning because he didn't appear at a meeting he was supposed to be hosting."

Erza thinks of Natsu's hellhound nose. Will he smell Jellal on the body and assume the truth? What will he do with that information? He's so righteous, bent on doing the right thing, even if it's not necessarily the just thing. The only time his turns his cheek to the law is when the guild is involved.

 _Maybe…_ she thinks, remembering the way he stood against the Council at the Tower of Heaven, the way he stood by _her_ , even though they were going to be blasted by the etherion cannon.

 _You ask so much of your friends,_ Erza chides herself. _You poured this bath of blood, now bathe in it._

Guards stand at the council doors as though the murder is going to walk right in and slit the throats of the councilmen in broad daylight. Erza smiles at the irony as they nod to her and open the doors, telling her,

"You're expected, Miss Scarlet. In the Badger Meeting Room. Alone, I was told. And then the council would like to see you in their chambers." The guards look suspiciously at Lucy like _she's_ going to pull a blade and slam it through a man's heart.

Lucy is obviously ruffled. "She's injured, she could need help."

The men stand stoically as if she hasn't spoken at all.

"I'll be fine, Lucy," Erza assures her. She detaches herself from Lucy's shoulder. The world tilts once, but evens out again and Erza pulls herself forward, into the halls of the Magic Council.

It's as bright and cavernous today as it is at any other time, but more than ever, Erza feels like she's walking in through the belly of a huge, transparent beast. There are few people in the halls but those that are there stop and stare at her and this time she doesn't think it's for her state or her infamy. Word has gotten out about the East Shores.

Erza hesitates outside the Badger Meeting Room with her hand on the doorhandle. She's at once sure whatever waits for her on the other side is not going to be good for her.

 _You've never turned away from anything before_ , she reminds herself. _Remember what they say? You're Erza. You're Erza Scarlet, and you can face anything._ Or some such nonsense. It's an inflated view she rises to only because it's expected of her. If she had worse friends that never believed in her, she's sure she'd be nothing but a beggar on the street, no magic, no imagined mystique.

She throws open the door with the gusto of a confident person. The breath leaves her, and she stalls, one foot in, the other still in the hallway.

"I'm sure you don't want this conversation overheard," says Eros. "Do come in, close the door."

Erza takes a rusty step inside. The door is on a return spring and slides closed silently.

She's never been in a room alone with Eros before. He takes up a lot of space without trying. He's sitting behind the oval desk in the centre of the room, not standing to intimidate her. His eyes are the blue of an ice-covered lake, mid-winter. They travel the length of Erza's body and back again as if looking for something.

Erza works some spit into her dry mouth, enough to wobble out, "Why am I here?" She hates the way her voice wavers just slightly on the end. Anyone else might not catch it, but Eros lives for fear and he singles in on it like a wasp on rotting apples.

"To discuss last night's events," Eros says easily.

"When you murdered a little girl for no reason other than you wanted to?" It isn't wise to play all her cards at once, she knows this, but she'll ruin him here if she must. She _wants_ to. She'll even face the consequences, give up the rest of her hunting, if that's what it takes to destroy this fraud.

Others would have squirmed under Erza's more-righteous-than-god attitude. Eros seems merely amused. "I was thinking more along the lines of when you turned into a dragon beast and attacked me." He holds up his bandaged arm between them. "A slower man would have had your blade in his heart, not his arm."

Erza tears her eyes away from the off-white bandage. It stinks of antiseptic. "If I did turn into any such beast, surely you'd be dead."

The threat hangs between them.

Eros leans forward. The overhead light limns his dark hair, makes a cavity out of the scar chasing his chin. His face is stubbled, where usually it's clean-shaven. He has no home to return to, no creature comforts, she reminds herself, and that, cruelly, brings her some satisfaction.

Eros, voice pitched low, queries, "All pretenses aside, what are you, Miss Scarlet?"

 _A demon,_ she thinks. _A dragon. A devil,_ if she needs to be. "A Fairy Tail mage."

"A beast," he corrects. "With waning control, I think. And beyond that, a murderer, perhaps?"

She's taken aback and cannot answer.

Eros reaches beneath the desk and pulls out a paper bag. He sets it on the table between them. It looks criminal.

"Go ahead."

 _You're Erza,_ she mantras. _Nothing frightens you for long._

She reaches for the bag; her fingers are cold and clumsy grasping it. It rustles open, loud in the quiet room. Eros watches her with the intensity of a hunter, monitoring her expression as three glossy black scales tumble out onto the table. They glitter like black diamonds, sharp-looking.

To her credit, Erza's face remains impassive. She looks up from the scales to Eros and raises an eyebrow.

"They were found at some of the most recent murder scenes."

Erza touches one. It's cold and hard and digs into finger and draws up a bead of blood. "Is this supposed to mean something?"

"Soon," he says, just as impassive as Erza feigns, except she doesn't think his calm is forced. "I imagine they'll have a whole story to tell and you'll be at its centre."

"Is that so?" She narrows in on his neck, the pale skin stretched over muscle and tendon. One of her short swords would work well in this confined space. It'll be sharp enough, there won't even be that much blood at first. She won't be able to stop it coming, though, and once it starts to spray and dresses her in red, there will be no doubt in the council's mind that she is the murderer.

"I think for a man who has taken a life in front of witnesses, you should be more careful to throw around the M word, Eros," she says. Her blood throbs in her ears and she can't hear if her voice is shaking or not.

Eros rubs his bandaged arm thoughtlessly. "Right. Who was that young man that rushed to your side to stop your transformation? The fire eater? Natsu Dragneel?"

Cold runs over Erza's skin. She plants her hands on the table, so she doesn't curl them in Eros' prim collar. "You will die if you touch anyone I care for."

He grins with his teeth. "You must tell me what I've done to incite your ire."

"Killed innocents who didn't deserve to die."

"Innocents. Plural. Not just the thief now, I see?"

She realizes her mistake too late. She's given Eros a trail to follow. She straightens and turns her back on him, slamming the door in her wake.

* * *

Councilman Tweed roosts high above Jellal wearing an expression of sick shock. On the floor between them, in a closed casket, lies the body of Councilman Wolfheim. Beneath the wood, his wounds gape and are many. Jellal sees them each in his mind and is at a crossroads between disgusted and pleased. He's done good work. Dirty work. But good work.

"This is unacceptable," Tweed says. His voice echoes throughout the cavernous chambers. Their dwindling numbers are apparent now. Jellal casts his eyes over the empty seats. Six members of the council remain. All their eyes are focused on Jellal. He loves being in the spotlight, it's true. He loves being in the spotlight while holding a secret even better.

"Perhaps the killer's goal is to completely undermine the power the Council carries?" Jellal suggests straight-faced.

Redness crawls up Tweed's neck into his sagging cheeks. "We _are_ weak now." He looks at his fellow councilmembers in turn. "We _must_ vote again and add another powerful mage to our numbers." He looks at Jellal meaningfully. "Prove to this murderer we will not be walked on."

The other members are quiet. Jellal keeps his expression stoic.

Tweed orders, "Wait in the hallway while we discuss."

Jellal bows his head and ducks out, the picture of contrition. In the hallway once the door is closed, though, he smiles. He doesn't need a spell to know what's being said inside the room. They will vote for him and grant him all the access he wants. Erza will have her list of sinners and will expunge them from this suffering world, and they'll be better for it.

One of the doors down the hallway flies open and Erza herself stalks out. She looks like fury; it sparks from her person. Her eyes narrow in on Jellal and he thinks for a moment, she'll run him through simply because she's looking for _anyone_ to run through. He considers opening his arms wide for her destruction.

Erza casts a look backward before slowing. She's shaking so badly; she can barely draw breath. He hasn't seen her so disordered before. "Jellal."

The way she says his name makes him want to reach for her. She does not look like she wants to be touched.

The door she stormed out of opens again and Jellal understands her anger a bit better. Eros is a beast of a man and must duck when he exits. He locks eyes with Jellal, with Erza, and interest crosses his features. Understanding. Foreboding settles in Jellal's stomach, poisonous as pitch.

"I'll come to you after and you can explain," Jellal tells her. Erza looks wounded for the span of a breath. When it clears, she's not the quivering girl from the Tower of Heaven and she's not the forgiver from Nirvana. She's the dragon, lying coldly in her den, waiting for the foolish passerby to linger too long. He thinks again of laying down for her, letting her find his heart with her sword.

 _Not yet,_ he thinks. _Not yet. But soon, we'll have everything we wanted._

Erza turns her back on Eros, standing by the benches in front of the council chambers, and Eros moves on down the hallway. Jellal feels like he's just been through two storms. He himself is shaken. There is no time to straighten his thoughts. The door opens and Tweed is there, taking up the frame and thensome with his girth.

"Come into the chambers, Miss Scarlet," Tweed orders. She squeezes between him and the doorframe. Then he looks at Jellal with weary eyes. "Gods have mercy on us all. Welcome back to the Magic Council, Councilman Fernandez."

No matter how he tries, Jellal can't straighten the edges of his smile, or Siegrain's heartfelt, "It's good to be back."

* * *

Erza's hands are sweaty. She stares at the casket in the centre of the room and thinks maybe she's either going to die laughing or be sick with guilt. The council members sit in their chairs high above her and watch her with curious eyes, silent, except for Councilwoman Verity's quill scratching over a piece of parchment. Whatever she's taking notes on, it makes Erza antsy.

Councilman Tweed rejoins them, and Jellal is by his side. Tweed huffs climbing up the stairs and returning to his seat. Jellal takes a seat at the end and it's like she's gone back in time. She knew his plan; knew he was trying to get back onto the Magic Council. She just had no faith that the councilmen would stretch their hands out to the dog that's already bitten them once. His ability to sway a person's opinions and to make the cards fall in his favour are uncontested.

Everyone settles and they stare down at Erza like gods. She's a jumbled mess after Eros.

"Miss Scarlet," Tweed begins. His eyes trek slowly to the body between them, a knee-jerk reaction that feels like an accusation to jumpy Erza. "We've already spoken to the first two members of your team, but this council would like to hear your report on the Crang incident last evening."

She knows what Natsu and Gray has told them and had planned to go against their word, Eros be damned. But she sees him in the meeting room again, smiling at her like he knows a secret she's never told anyone ( _Murderer),_ and she can't get her mouth to move around the accusation.

"Miss Scarlet?" Councilwoman Verity prods.

Erza looks to Jellal. He's sitting back in his old seat as though he's never left it. His eyes are on her, unwavering. There's a slight cant to his mouth that she finds unsettling. It worms into the deepest part of her and makes her think of indecent things.

"I understand you witnessed Crang's untimely end," Jellal interjects. For a moment, the Council looks away from Erza and studies Jellal instead. She can work some air into her lungs, get her thoughts in order.

"That's correct. She was taken by the fire." She's already been through hell with Eros. Her voice doesn't shake.

"Tell us about it," Tweed levers. "I know it may be uncomfortable, but I ask that you spare no details. This incident has done a lot of damage to the East Shores and we need to understand what has happened and why."

Money is breathing down his throat, he means. The East Shores homes are owned by the rich. Erza's hit with a wave of rage. She doesn't care that rich people have lost their homes. A girl, thief or not, has had her life stolen from her, unasked, unwarranted.

She looks at Jellal again. Silently, he wills her on. She imagines what he'd like her to do, speak the truth or go with Natsu's lie? He'd probably want her to play the politics. _Just a little longer,_ he seems to say. _And then we'll make all these people suffer for their transgressions._ Let Eros lie for now, they'll get him, and others, too.

She lets out her breath and recants what she imagines is Natsu's version of the tale. When none of the council members flinch, she assumes she said the right things in the right places.

Silence follows the end of her speech. More scratching of quills. The occasional scrutinizing glare.

Verity speaks. "While this is unfortunate all around, the burning of the homes, the loss of that girl's life, we can at least close the chapter on the Capitol's thieving. Whomever her next target, they can rest easy."

"And the person she was stealing for?"

"While it'd be nice to close the case completely, I doubt it'll happen," Verity says. "We'll have to dub it irrelevant until they start causing trouble with their stolen artefacts, I should think."

Erza sees red even when her eyes are open. She must remind herself to breathe. This small woman with her small-minded views doesn't mean to be so callous. How could she, when beyond this building lay so much unfettered destruction?

"Are you alright, Miss Scarlet?" That's Jellal's voice. It's not entirely kind. If she went off now and murdered the remaining council members, he would join her, his tone suggests.

Erza pulls herself out of the mire, blinking and concentrating. "Forgive me. I hit my head in the fire."

"During the explosion," Verity says not unkindly. "We heard from your team members."

Generous of them. "Yes. If you'll forgive me, I'd like to excuse myself."

"We've one more item on our agenda, Miss Scarlet," Councilman Tweed speaks, and Erza resigns herself to their company for another moment. He gestures to the casket. "As you can see, last night's fire wasn't the only trouble the capitol faced. As you know, members of our council are being targeted by a killer. Per our prior conversation, we're putting out an official bid to the guilds to catch the killer, but we wanted to personally request your talents. Have you discussed it with your team?"

She wants to laugh in their faces. She wishes she didn't clean her sword of Louis Hemming's blood. She wishes she is brazen enough to throw it down between them and scream. She wishes she could drop to her knees in front of them with her hands held together and beg them to make her stop, and if they can't, then to at least make the nightmares go away.

A calmness befalls her when she considers what that means. She's never wanted the relief of death. She's a fighter. She slogs through the mud for justice. And she will keep slogging. Even if the going is difficult and riddled with fat bureaucrats that can't spot a dragon when they see one.

Erza apologizes to her team members for making the decision for them, especially Lucy, who can't seem to handle any kind of dead. "We've agreed, it would be an honour to catch your murderer." She bows slightly as she says it and looks through her lashes. Jellal's wearing a smile that makes her belly warm and her heart cold.

"Excellent. We feel safer in your capable hands." Tweed stands. "I'll leave you to discuss with your team how you would like to proceed, and we'll wait for your instruction."

"You'll hear from us before the day is through," Erza promises.

The council stands and disburses, even Jellal. Erza is alone. She looks at the casket where Wolfheim lies and tells herself she isn't curious. Then she tells herself it's too morbid to check and that people could be watching. She meets herself in the middle and steps forward and lays her hand against the cold wood. "May the Gods have mercy on your soul."

_And mine._


	9. Chapter 9

It feels wrong that the sun should be shining so brilliantly, blinding Erza when all she can think about is dark deeds as she steps out of the council building. She can still feel the grain of Councilman Wolfheim's coffin against her fingers. It's like black ink staining her skin, sticking to her, criminal, almost. She is the reason he lies, unmoving, but can she draw a tear for his demise and her immoral behaviour when her prize is now clearly in her sights?

She cannot believe the Council voted Jellal in. She wants to laugh. Hold her ribs and cry. How can she be so divided?

Squinting, she follows the sound of Lucy's voice, mostly blind. As her eyes adjust to the harsh light, she sees Lucy laughing at Gray holding Happy's slimy fish, making a face, while Happy readjusts his backpack on his shoulders. Suddenly, briefly, Erza wishes today didn't happen, that she can turn back the clocks and return to her bed, where Lucy held her soothingly while the rest of the world slept through the aftermath of violence, the calm _after_ the storm. Ignorant.

Natsu is doing that thing again where he looks longingly at Lucy, mesmerized, and paralyzed for reasons different than Erza, searching for something witty to say and the right time to say it. Lucy seems to be diligently ignoring him.

"Hey, Erza," Natsu says when he sees her, reluctantly shifting his focus.

"Erza!" Lucy turns from Gray and gives Erza her full attention. "What happened? How did it go?" _Do we need to run_ , she inquires without speaking the exact words. Erza gives a little shake of her head.

"What happened?" Lucy asks more softly. She steps away from Gray and Happy and toward Erza, hand slightly outstretched as though she's going to grab Erza's arm. Beneath her concern, she's on the verge of horror, thinking about the repercussions of Erza's actions, how they might have to run from the council if they're corrupt all the way through, or, if they're not, how they might spend the next three years in a lengthy court trial until it goes on for so long, Eros goes free anyway because they've passed the statute of limitations.

"I didn't…" Erza trails off, too ashamed to finish.

"You didn't tell them you thought he killed that girl?" Gray supplied. His voice is pitched low and his eyes move amongst the thin stream of people moving into the council building.

Erza shakes her head.

"Why?" Natsu's the most shocked. He lied to the council when they asked about Erza stabbing Eros and her reasoning to protect her, but he's ready to fight them for what she believes in. Always. She wants to bring him in tight to her chest, tell him to leave her side. If he cuts ties with her now, maybe he won't get tangled in this mess.

Natsu will never listen, though. None of them will, the fools.

"You didn't either," Erza says instead, and puts behind her words the force of one of her blades, imagining hitting Natsu with the pommel because she's so furious about the whole thing, but mostly with herself. She hasn't been sloppy with her murders, but she hasn't been particularly careful, either. She has too much of her mother in her, too much self-righteousness and dripping with hubris. She won't be caught because what she's doing is the right thing or some such nonsense, but now she must tread extra careful. Eros has a scent on her.

_They're only scales. Your skin is soft, pink, pale. And your reputation is_ spotless. _Anyone will laugh if he comes forward with that evidence and such wild accusations._

But not Natsu who has seen her worst self.

_Does that make him a problem, too?_

"I didn't want you to get in trouble for attacking him," Natsu says, stemming her darkening thoughts.

Erza catches her hair when the wind tries to tangle it and sees on the third floor, Jellal is watching her. She cannot read his expression but feels emboldened by his attention anyway. "This doesn't matter anymore. We'll catch Eros for his other misdeeds." She doesn't like lying, hates lying to her friends even more, but she does it, in a sense, laying down the footwork for a suggestion. "The council has officially asked us to investigate the murders." _Of which Eros will be blamed._

Lucy looks ill. "Really?"

"I told them yes."

"What happened to running it by the team?" Gray dares, not very indignant, but cognisant of Lucy's limitations and Natsu's single-mindedness when it comes to injustice.

"This is too important to squabble over." Erza straightens her shoulders as she speaks, makes herself look confident, tries to impart on her team the importance of this mission, this façade, this farce she will use to apprehend Eros, preferably with one of her swords through his throat so he cannot speak a word against her and she may have peace.

"And too late to back out of now. I told the council that we'd have some sort of plan to keep them safe before the end of the day," Erza continues.

"There are five of them and five of us. It could work if we go one on one," Gray muses.

Erza shakes her head. "Six." Everyone looks startled. She feels her ears starting to burn. "Jellal—" Her voice is wavering. She strengthens it. "Jellal's been reinstated."

Gray's mouth drops open. "No freakin' way," Lucy chimes. Erza is very careful not to look at Natsu's reaction but can't help but notice his silence. She goes a step further to shock them all again. Might as well get it out of the way.

"He'll be with me, and together, we'll watch one of the councilmen. That should leave everyone else with one council member to look after."

"That leaves me to watch one on my own?" Happy speaks for the first time in minutes. Normally, he's full of bluster, but now he looks uncertain. He flies. He does not stop the knives of murderers.

"I'll call one of my spirits," Lucy soothes him. "Maybe Loke. You can work together. Or you can stay with Natsu and Loke will watch the council member."

Happy's face lights up. "Maybe we can work together." He has a fondness for the lion spirit Erza finds endearing.

"If that's settled, we've only to choose our council members. You're not to leave their side for anything," Erza warns them all, looking specifically at Happy. "Even if you're hungry."

Happy squawks about being singled out, Natsu laughs at him.

"That goes for you, too, Natsu," Erza says.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiles, though it's thin; there is worry behind his eyes.

Lucy summons Loke and her, Gray and Happy start to move off.

"A moment, Natsu," Erza says before he can do the same. Lucy glances back over her shoulder, once, to give Natsu a pitying look. Gray doesn't bother, just happy it's not him in Erza's sights.

There is a fountain outside the council building. Natsu leans against its short wall, looking at the building, perhaps thinking about which council member he will shadow. "What's up?"

There is no one near them and Erza feels safe enough to speak candidly. "You were close enough, you must have seen what Eros did. Why didn't you do something? Or say something?" _Why did you let him walk away instead of burning him to the ground_? she means.

"I didn't see," Natsu denies.

"You were _there_." Close enough to hit her in the back of the head and to prevent her sword from finding Eros' heart. She realizes then she blames Natsu. She blames him for Eros' still-beating heart.

He looks at her. His eyes are a green so dark, they are black in the right light. "I saw you and Eros facing off. The girl was already dead."

His senses are more refined than anyone's she knows. He must have seen something, heard it, _smelled_ it. She opens her mouth to call him a liar but Natsu speaks again.

"Besides. The important thing is that you're safe, and the council didn't arrest you. There's no way this Eros guy doesn't have something to do with the killings, and once we get rolling, we're going to catch him and he's going to be charged for more than just the thief, and it'll be worth it."

He looks at her imploringly then, asking her to confirm. Letting things go doesn't come naturally to Natsu, especially when they're as big and ugly as this.

"He'll pay," Erza obliges. "We did the right thing."

"I thought so," Natsu breathes.

One small lie to sink Eros forever.

Erza thinks of Wolfheim's coffin. "Let's get going, before the council thinks we've left them to die."

* * *

It's strange seeing Jellal in public without a face covering. He walks with his head held high, as though he's not the same man that destroyed the council years ago. Or, Erza supposed, that he _is_ the same man that destroyed it years ago and simply does not care.

"It's no bother if you want to come in," Councilwoman Verity says ahead of them, speaking over her shoulder. "I've made soup for dinner; I can add some more vegetables and with some bread, it'll likely stretch to feed the three of us."

"It's no bother, really," Erza tells her again. The woman is insufferably sweet, overly concerned with her and Jellal as though they're guests, not guards. "We'll only sweep the house and then return to our posts out front if you need us."

Inner Crocus bustles around them, carts, maids, shopkeepers, urchins, the wheel of life spinning, constantly.

Verity asks, "But what will you eat?"

Erza wasn't hungry before but all this talk about eating and the scent of baked goods on the air is making her stomach cramp. "I have rations."

There is enough bite in her voice that Verity drops it. Thank the gods.

Jellal hides a laugh behind a cough. Erza turns her bad temper to him instead. She doesn't _want_ to be here, would rather be in her bed doted upon by Jellal, who is the doting kind when asked but has talked and weaseled her way beneath the noses of the council and she cannot for the life of her think of a way out.

Verity home, a stout and modest bungalow considering her great wealth, is empty of threats, of course. Erza is diligent all the same, making her rounds, checking the closets, beneath the bed, the washroom, the attic until she can confidently say the house is clear.

She must again field another offer of soup, and then she's free to flee the house for the cool air outside.

After a time, Jellal leaves the councilwoman's home and joins Erza on the stoop, as though if there _were_ a killer marching here, they might be brazen enough to try the direct approach.

He is mute. So is Erza.

The sun sinks on the horizon, one inch at a time until the world is plunged into cool darkness. An errant cricket croaks, as though it doesn't know what time of year it is. Erza plucks her aforementioned rations out of the space she keeps her armour and offers Jellal a piece of dried meat and cheese. They chew in companionable silence for a while.

"Is it strange?" Erza asks finally. "Being back on the council?"

"It's like I never left," Jellal says, and there is such truth in his words, it gives her pause.

She doesn't want to ask aloud, not here, but she needs to know and cannot wait for an answer. "Has it given you access to files that might help us?"

"You sound eager, Erza," Jellal says in a cloying voice. _Siegrain's_ voice.

"Eros knows about me. About…" But she can't say it aloud, to do so makes it real. She doesn't need to—Jellal knows she thinks of her dragon scales, her wings, her slitted pupils, the beast. "He threatened my family." Erza's teeth are gritted so tight, the words almost can't make it through. "Eros threatened Natsu because he saw Eros and me last night. Because—" And she doesn't want to say this either; it puts Natsu at unnecessary risk from the two most dangerous predators she can think of in all of Fiore. "Because he might know about—me."

Jellal doesn't flinch, as though he's come to expect such behaviour of men like Eros and has known all along Natsu is too well informed for his own good. He doesn't try to think of ways to exonerate Natsu. Maybe he doesn't care or maybe he just thinks what will come will come. It's difficult to say, or if the two circumstances are different at all. "I was doing some restricted reading this evening, as Councilman Tweed permits. Do you remember in the Tower of Heaven? A woman named Monique?"

Erza must dig through the bowels of her memory. "I'm not sure."

"She had a scar, here." He turns to Erza and touches her lip. "Where one of the children swiped at her with a stone the first week I arrived at the Tower of Heaven."

Erza starts to build a picture of the woman in her mind. "She was thin, like a mantis. Had long brown hair. And was always stationed in the infirmary."

"I used to think she was a nurse." Jellal looks to the sky with his eyes closed, remembering something far away. "She was nice."

Erza smiles faintly. "I remember she wrapped my ankle for me after I twisted it on one of the stairs." Those steep, stone stairs still haunt her dreams.

"And she set my finger for me when I broke it," Jellal reminisces. "But she was not a nurse."

"Then what was she?"

His face gets sort of flat and Erza senses an inquietude about him, a dangerousness she both loves and is incredibly wary of. "Do you also remember how sometimes, children would disappear?"

"I assumed they died." So many were lost to the building of the Tower of Heaven.

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. And if one of the children were damaged beyond what was considered useful to the Tower of Heaven, Monique would take them."

The way he speaks draws an unease in her, like poison rising to the surface. "To do what?"

Jellal looks at her, finally. His eyes are black like the night sky, dead, almost, desolate, certainly. "To please whoever might need pleasing," he says and leaves it at that.

Erza, once the connections are made, is filled with a blind rage. She swallows. Her throat won't work, though. She feels scales biting into her knuckles, her arms, her elbows. She feels the change in her eyes. She hears her mother's voice inside her mind, _my daughter. My beauty. My beast._

Jellal has never pulled away from her violence before and now is no exception. He leans into her like he might become the object of her ire like he might not mind as he presses something cold and hard into her palm.

"She's in the new developments. Twelve, Meadow Crescent," he whispers against her ear. His breath is hot, sliding down her neck, warming her otherwise cold body. "I will watch the councilwoman's home while you rid the world of one more evil."

Erza takes the offered dagger and slinks into the new night.


	10. Chapter 10

Moonlight clings to blades of grass like frost. Erza breathes deeply, shallowly, deeply again, caught somewhere in the web between rational thinking and the hot wash of fury that comes just before a kill.

The dry blades crinkle beneath her boots as she slinks through construction debris on Meadow Crescent, toward house number twelve. Gold embossing beams by the streetlight. Getting spotted might be easy if she were anyone else, but years in the Tower of Heaven learning how to be small, quiet, unnoticed, benefit her now. When she does not want to be seen, she is a ghost, when she does not want to be heard—

"Another murder, murderess?"

Erza spins, a dagger already in her hand, aimed for a throat. She's too committed to stop the motion.

Eileen doesn't need her to pull back. She's ready for her daughter's volatile attack and catches the razor-sharp blade with one clawed hand. Steel grinds against scales, nails, nicking her, but that is all.

Eileen releases the blade, confident Erza won't regroup and cut her down or disbelieving that she even can, and flattens her tongue against her palm, cleaning up the dribble of blood. The smell of it makes Erza's stomach tighten. It sickens her to crave it, but she wants to be surrounded by its iron smell, wet with it, hot and then cold.

"Continue on," Eileen says with her red tongue. Some blood has stained the corner of her lip, too. She looks feral, the kind of woman that could be a dragon. _Is that what I look like?_ Erza wonders.

Eileen motions to number twelve, sitting on a corner plot in the glow of a streetlamp, the doors and windows closed, a light on in its living room. "I came to watch you work. If you please."

Begging her mother to go away has never worked in the past. Demanding?

She does neither, spinning from her mother and watching the night like a cat, crouched low, spotting mice amongst the refuge, men, moving across the street and into their homes after a long day of work, families bustling in front of windows.

"I thought you'd be more decisive."

She knows her mother is still behind her but tenses anyway at the sound of her voice. "This is careful work." Careful work ensures she'll never be caught. She needs to be more careful now that Eros is on her trail.

"This is the woman who handpicked children from the Tower of Heaven deemed too useless to work on the tower," Eileen says. Her voice is idle, but there are barbs behind it, pushing into Erza's skin, making her twitch, bleed. "Too useless to work on the tower but still viable for bed warming. To keep the secret, they would kill them afterward. They considered taking Simon, did you know? After his accident."

Erza keeps her eyes fixed on the house.

"That woman in there, she touched his broad frame, assessing him like cattle. He broke her wrist for it. That was when she decided with a bit of time to recover, he'd be more useful back in the tower."

He was too strong to be used in such ways. He would have always fought. Everything she says is plausible. He had never said anything, though, and Eileen Belserion has been known to lie to get her way, forcing Erza to ask, "How do you know it happened?"

"When you're a god, you know all," Eileen says. "This is boring. Should I kill her for you?"

"Don't you _dare,_ " Erza snarls. Sharp teeth poke her bottom lip, makes it bleed. The blood dribbles over her chin, her chest, drops to the ground where it soaks in amongst the dying grass.

Her mother laughs. The sound is too loud, jarring Erza and the sleepy street. A dog that wanders the road looking for scraps lifts its head and sniffs the air warily as if in search of a predator.

From behind, Eileen pushes her cheek almost against Erza's. She smells of metal, scales, murder. "I wouldn't, my love, not tonight. Every time you kill, you come closer and closer to who you're meant to be, and that is a beautiful thing."

Erza tells herself to drop her blade, return to Jellal, beg him to help her stop this madness, whether that means they wander into the icy waters of the ocean together or they go to the council, wrists bared, confessions thought out. But she sees movement from inside Monique's home, and she cannot, the gods help her, she _cannot_.

Erza leaves her mother amongst the building debris and chooses the back door to go through. It is sliding glass and opens quietly.

A lacrima cube is playing in the living room, a reporter nattering on about the murders, detailing the newest. Erza can almost see Wolfheim's coffin in the council chambers, lain out, waiting to be sunken into the ground.

The house smells of salad dressing and wine, paint. It is brand new, after all.

Laughter travels out of the living room and Erza is transported to a dark room eight years in her past. Has such little time passed? She can still see the grey walls, smell the antiseptic and sadness. Feel Monique's fingers on her ankle as she turned the swollen bulb this way and that, examining it in lacrima light.

_'You're lucky it's only sprained, Erza_ ,' she said then. _'You're too pretty.'_

Her words hadn't made much sense then. They fit jaggedly in a puzzle now that Erza has had her own belongings, clothing, flowers, jewellery. It's such a shame when pretty things get ruined. Such a shame.

Magic trickles over her like sandy water, pricking her toughening skin, the scales that seem to be an ever-increasing element in her life. Soon, she won't be able to hide.

The laughter stops abruptly. Erza clenches her daggers, breathes, readying for an assault.

She's still standing there when a narrow shaft of magic slams through her shoulder, as real as any arrow. She doesn't even feel pain, it happens so fast. The edges of her skin are burned, her blood is leaking all over the floor. It has an odd purple hue to it like it's not truly hers, part dragon, part girl.

The next magical attack hits Erza's dagger when she lifts it, bends around her, and shatters the glass door. Nighttime air _whooshes_ into the house, bringing with it the wail of an alarm. The cold truth hits Erza hard: Monique has been waiting for her.

"This is an interesting turn of events." Monique's voice hasn't changed at all. Unlike her features, when she steps out of the living room, still holding her glass of wine. She is willow thin and grey now, one of her eyes are dead. Erza supposes her profession of choice has been riddled with dangers, unhappy children, and unhappy clients.

"I don't suppose the Council knows its newest dog is astray? Of course not." She tsks, shakes her head. "Clever, though, hiding beneath their noses. And such a lauded mage, too. Erza Scarlet. _Erza Scarlet._ I never thought we'd meet again. Definitely not like this. This will be an interesting tale to tell."

Erza is shaken. Her targets don't usually know her. And she has never been injured by them before. Her shoulder is a dull throb. She clenches her teeth. "The dead don't tell tales."

Monique's smile remains wry, unconcerned. The alarm still wails. Erza finds its lacrima on the kitchen ceiling, red and white, flashing. She summons a sword and commands it to shatter it as though it were nothing more substantial than a heart. Fragments of crystal sprinkle around them, almost like snow. Now the air smells burned.

And it is silent now. Pregnant silence, horrible silence.

Monique's eyes are quick, taking in Erza's changing body, her tight and dangerous grip on her weapons. "I thought Eros was paranoid when he suggested someone has been targeting Tower of Heaven staff. But I'm prudent. I'm careful. So I prepared. And here, I've caught a… what are you, exactly?"

_I am a god._

"Your executioner."

It's been days since she's felt her blade slip into soft skin. Held it in her hand while the skin parted around the wound, felt someone's blood slip over her knuckles, wrists, and forearms. Eros doesn't count, though she wishes he did. She threw her last blade at him, watched him bleed from afar. Monique. _Monique._

Even without her armours, Erza is fast. It's her mother's blood. It's her desire to unburden this world of one more horrid soul. When she decides to move and Monique attacks again, throwing magical projectiles at her, she cannot be hit. The house explodes around her as Monique tries, a coffee cup bursts into a million fine pieces, cabinets break off their hinges, floor tiles crack, and yet, Erza remains, an arrow, fast and true, seeking a heart to home in.

She digs her elbow into the soft place between Monique's ribs and sends her backwards with the force of a wrecking ball. She falls to the floor, breathless, ghastly white, grey hairs strewn around her face. She cannot move, save her eyes, which roll in her head like a scared horse's. Gone is her confidence. Here is the worm.

Erza sinks down over top of her, her legs on either side of the woman's body and her twin daggers hovering over Monique's heart. Wings unfurl unburdened from Erza's back, spread, the colour of rotten apples, black and off-yellow, shot through with streaks of red, bony, papery, but powerful, and she must look like a demon, she must look like a god, she must look like a reckoning, because Monique isn't smiling any longer. She's pale, she's sick, she's ready to die.

"Eight years ago, you had the opportunity to take children from the Tower of Heaven and give them a new life," Erza manages. Everyone must hear their sins before they die. If they do not, what is the point? "Instead, you made a choice to condemn them to lives of hell. I'm here to cleanse the world of your sins."

Monique looks up at her and for an instant, Erza sees not pity or fear in her gaze, but anger, and she knows the woman is wishing she did take Erza that day, put her in the arms of someone who would use her and then destroy the evidence. Perhaps they would have thrown her off one of the tower's many balconies, into the deep, frothing sea, or maybe they would encase her body in concrete, never to be found again. This woman _wishes_ it. Wishes it with all her might. There will be no repenting for her.

Erza flexes her hands, her wings, her legs, and drives the blades home, pushing them through her chest so hard, they sink into the floor. There is a wet squelch, the scrape of dagger on bone, and then a weak breath of air.

Erza stands as the light leaves Monique's eyes.

"Sins are scars, Erza, darling," her mother says. She's cast herself in the reflection of the closet mirror. How long has she been watching for? "You can destroy the blade that made them, but you will never repair the skin."

Erza doesn't look at her with her arms crossed over her chest, smile crooked, she stares at herself. She is a wilding. She is a dragon. She used to be a girl but now that girl is gone. There is only the beast. And she is ugly. She is wicked. She is not out for Justice. She is out for Blood.

"I want to be me again," Erza whispers. "Make me me again." She's never asked her mother for anything, but for this, this one thing, she will beg. "Please."

Something softens in Eileen's eyes, but even as she waves her hand and Erza's skin turns pink, soft, her wings disappear, she says, "This isn't who you truly are."

* * *

Erza stumbles through the construction debris, out of sorts, injured, on the verge of tears but also riding the high of the kill. She is strung between the two, pulled in either direction and does not know which feeling she should slave to if she should laugh or sink to her knees here and sob.

Then she hears it, and both feelings evaporate. Her blood runs cold.

"It's this way."

"Slow down, Natsu."

He won't listen to Lucy. He never does.

It is no use hiding. She doesn't have to look so guilty, though. Erza requips into her favourite armour, spins on her heel and looks at number twelve Meadow Crescent as though she has not seen it before, so when Natsu barrels around the corner as he is prone to doing, and collides with her headlong, it looks as though she's just arrived.

They go down, limbs tangled, Erza biting back a pained scream when her shoulder jars, and Natsu cursing first out of annoyance. He realizes what he's done, and who he's done it to, and his curses turn to apologies. ' _Sorry, Erza! Didn't see you there! Let me help you up!'_

"Gods, Natsu. Don't touch her, _I'll_ help her up," Lucy scolds, coming around the corner.

Natsu obediently makes room for Lucy at Erza's side. Her breath clouds in front of her reddened face as she bends to help Erza up, taking her by her uninjured arm, thankfully. "Did you hear the alarm, too, Erza? I was watching Tweed when he flew out of his house cursing about how rough Crocus has become. He lives in a big city, I tried to explain that to him, it could be _anything_ , but he insisted I come to check it out. I met this meathead on the way." She rolls her eyes in Natsu's direction.

"I heard the alarm, too," Natsu says defensively. "I wanted to make sure none of you guys were in trouble. He dusts Erza off like he might a blanket and her armour hides her blood, her injury, but Natsu's nose is keen and he smells the iron on her.

He sobers, mouth flattening in the light of the streetlamp, his body language changing, turning protective, aggressive. "You're hurt."

She wants to tell him she's fine but now she must lie. "I did hear the alarm. When I arrived a moment ago, I was attacked."

"By who?" Lucy scours the area like she might find her attacker amongst the garbage. Erza's first reaction is to placate her. She cannot.

"I didn't see them."

Natsu is uneasy. He doesn't like the idea of people getting a jump on Erza. He doesn't know many people that _can._ "I'm going to look around a bit," he decides.

Erza must bite her cheek to keep from calling out to him and begging him to return to his post. They're not supposed to leave the council unattended; she thinks furiously at him. She's not telepathic and Natsu is too single-minded to think about things like post abandonment when he lifts his nose and sniffs more blood on the air.

He's gone, shot through the night, barreling through the construction toward Monique's home, through her broken back door, into the mess Erza has left, to the body she ruined.

Erza makes a small noise, protest, and denial all in one; she cannot help it.

"Are you scared?" Lucy asks. She reaches for Erza's hand, laces their fingers together. There is no blade in it now, but Erza can feel the ghost of her dagger pressing into her palm, and its slide into Monique's chest through Lucy's grip. It feels like a perversion of something pure. "You don't have to be. We're together."

How can she tell her she's not afraid of mundane things like attackers? But instead, what Natsu will find?


	11. Chapter 11

The sun is cresting the sky when Natsu finally comes out of Monique's home. He is pale and there is a smear of grime on his cheek. He must have touched something. He shouldn't have.

Erza searches his eyes, ready to be contrite, to confess. But Natsu doesn't say anything to her. His eyes are on Lucy. He holds out his hand, and she goes, communication lacrima barred. They move in such an easy fashion, converse in ways most cannot.

Erza listens dully as Natsu makes the call to Chairman Tweed, explains about Monique, and Tweed curses, swears, threatens. It's all fear. He has nothing to be afraid of, though. He is not a target. He is nothing. A means to an end, and that is all.

The call ends. Erza is shivering. Shock, she thinks. She's bleeding. She's bleeding a lot. Natsu goes to her, pulls at the armour plate on her chest. She realizes he's talking and she's not listening. She hasn't been for quite some time, Tweed's voice melding in with the night, and then with the silence, Natsu's voice a drone, Lucy's, as high-pitched and as unrecognizable as a cardinal's.

The seconds tick by and as they go, both Natsu and Lucy start flitting around her. Their eyes shine with concern. Erza lets them poke and prod at her. She's tired. She's hollow.

The cool morning air hits her skin. She shivers like mad.

 _"—stop the bleeding,_ " Lucy says.

Fire blazes across Natsu's fingers. His face is drawn in concentration. Erza realizes what he means to do, yanks away from him, out of his grip, and Lucy's, stumbles back.

Strong arms wrap around her body and hold her as tight as any lover might. She thinks _Jellal_ , but when she turns her face up, it's Eros.

She recoils, scrabbles, fights, screams, she thinks because everything is gauzy and soft and horrible. He will not let her go. He is a rock of a man and she is soft talc, the life being crushed out of her before she's had the chance to complete her task.

"Stop! You're hurting her." Lucy's voice again breaks through the fog. She reaches for Erza, wrests her away from Eros and to the ground. Natsu reappears over her, except he's looking at Eros. His mouth moves, spitting furious words. Erza can see a flash of incisors. She feels the holes in her lip where her own teeth cut in.

Another face takes up residence at Erza's side. She blinks, not understanding why Gray might be there. Why he might have left his post. Why can no one in her team just obey an order?

He lays his hand on Erza's forehead. He's cold. She's hot. "She's burning up."

They start talking at once. The concern in their voices is like little needles, jabbing Erza each time. She opens her mouth to assure them she's fine but can't seem to find the words.

Suddenly, Natsu is shoved back, Lucy, Gray, too. There's the pink morning sky above Erza, and then Eros. His face is cruelly beautiful. He crouches at her side, presses a lacrima into her hand. She wants to drop it but can feel the heat pulse out of it, spread throughout her body, and eat at the cobwebs in her mind. It's a healing lacrima, she understands.

"You cannot die yet," Eros quietly says, mouth in a smile. "We have business, I understand." He pats her uninjured shoulder, stands, shouts orders to what must be a small force of soldiers he's brought with him. Their feet shake the ground as they move to carry out his command.

They move out of sight, into Monique's home, Erza is sure. She can still hear them, distantly, the way someone inside a house might hear a cart on a path.

"Erza?" Lucy is the first to dare touch her. She lays her hand on Erza's forehead, much as Gray had, and peels back the clothing soggy with blood from her shoulder.

"I'm better," Erza manages. Though her pride is hurt. How could she let the wound get so bad? _Possessed,_ she thinks. When she catches the scent of the Tower of Heaven, nothing else seems to matter. _Careful work_ , she told her mother, but she only must be so careful _before_ the kill because during, her thoughts turn off, and she can see nothing else but justice. But the monster in the mirror.

She closes her eyes against the memory, afraid summoning it will summon the dragon.

"We'll bring you back to the hotel," Gray decides.

Erza works some saliva into her dry mouth. "I'll need to report to Chairman Tweed." She cannot fail to appear in front of him _twice_ for injury. She has a reputation to uphold. Besides, she feels better now. Part of her wishes she didn't. She doesn't want to be in Eros' dept, not for anything. He has one thing right, though. They do have unfinished business.

"Are you sure?" Lucy asks even as Natsu crouches beside her and slings her arm over his shoulder. He, with Gray's help, lifts her up. She feels insubstantial for a moment, a piece of dandelion fluff, caught in this mortal coil, unable to fall to the ground, rot, grow something new.

"I'll be fine." Erza looks back over her shoulder to where Eros is examining Monique's home. Their eyes meet across the distance. His hands curl on the doorframe. She sees a promise in his eyes. He suspects her part in all this but will not speak out against her because he wants to see what she'll do.

His curiosity will be what destroys him.

* * *

It's midday and Erza is exhausted and yet, she cannot sleep, though she knows night will fall and the council will expect her and her team to return to guard them.

She sits on the flat roof outside her window, watching clouds ramble by in the cool breeze. Her hair is pulled from its loose ponytail, flutters around her shoulders. It should be peaceful, but she is a tumult of emotions.

Tweed threatened to fire them (she doesn't think he will—he's too afraid of what lies in the dark), but Monique is dead. She writes it in the rooftop gravel— _dead_ —looks at it. Smiles. It fits poorly on her face. She doesn't love what she does. She only must do it.

She wipes the word away as her window opens and another joins her on the rooftop.

She expects Jellal— _hopes_ for him—but gets Natsu.

She gets still as he comes to sit beside her, close, like family. He reaches out, touches her chin. Erza lets it happen. Natsu doesn't touch her, typically, and she's too stunned to move away.

He looks at her lip where her fangs dug into her skin, ruined it, and then he looks at her shoulder where Monique's shaft of magical light punctured her skin. His face is unreadable.

"There was no damage to your armour," is Natsu's first words. He releases her, faces out toward the city. He looks out of place in it. Natsu belongs in his cottage at the edge of Magnolia. Crocus is no place for a dragon. Erza feels it, too, the way she fits poorly into the city streets.

"I changed my armour."

"Why?"

The muscles are still sore when Erza leans forward and locks her arms around her knees. She wishes for Wendy. Her healing magic is far superior to any lacrima. "I didn't want to worry you."

Natsu mimics her, wrapping his arms around his legs. "We're family. I'm going to worry anyway."

Erza sighs.

"And that Enforcement guy."

She imagines Eros kneeling at her side, his hand folding around hers.

Natsu, sharing similar thoughts, simmers with his rage. He likes Eros almost as much as Erza does. "We should take care of him."

Before he takes care of them.

Erza nestles her cheek on her knee and looks at Natsu from the corner of her eye. Sometimes, her hair slides in front of her vision, painting him in red. He's divided. Rage and uncontested levity. She doesn't know how he swings between the two and still manages to keep his head.

But of course, Natsu's never been very good at that. He has Happy and Lucy to ground him when things get dark.

She and Natsu would make a very bad team, left to their own devices. Erza smiles, thinking of the destruction.

"Leave Eros. He'll expose himself soon."

Natsu clamps his teeth around his protest and manages to swallow it back. Lucy has been doing good work with him; he's not quite as high strung as he used to be.

They absorb the sound of the day for a while, birds chirruping, carts moving through the city. Erza waits for Natsu to grow tired, return inside, sleep, and when he doesn't, just fiddles with the button on his coat, it becomes obvious he's working himself up to a confrontation.

"What's on your mind?" (She doesn't want to know. Never wants to know anymore.)

He draws in a breath and says it all at once, as though if he doesn't, he'll never get the words out. "Last night. That woman's house was ruined."

 _I know_ , she thinks.

"And your scent was all throughout it."

Her heart trips, falls, before it can pick itself up and start again. "I was inside." She wills Natsu to see the confession for what it is; she doesn't think she can go on like this anymore.

Natsu turns his dark eyes on her. She feels like an ant beneath a focused beam of sunlight, burning to nothing. "Were you able to see what the killer looked like?"

She sees herself in the mirror, wings of yellow and gold and black, knives for fingers, a heaving chest and wickedness. "A monster."

Natsu waits for her to add to her declaration. She cannot.

"We'll fix it," he says, like Jellal. _We'll fix it_. Everyone in her life is always trying to _fix_ things. What if they cannot be fixed, she asks silently, what if she doesn't _want_ them to be fixed?

"They won't get away with it forever," he says, and she realizes he doesn't see the truth. Cannot. Cannot imagine _she_ could be that kind of creature. Erza tries to laugh but it sounds more like a strangled sob instead.

Natsu presses his shoulder against hers. She won't look at him. What must he think? That she feels like a failure for missing the opportunity to catch the killer? That she mourns the loss of those Officials? That almost pushes her to confession again. But he doesn't say anything and neither does she.

Eventually, he returns to the hotel. Erza stays out on the roof until she feels her skin starting to burn and her eyes drooping. She climbs back through the window, leaving it open for Jellal, and falls into bed, where she thinks of Eros pressing the lacrima into her hand.

Unfinished business, indeed.

* * *

A strained silence clings to the council building like mould.

A memorial has been erected for the council members that have lost their lives. Jellal counts six in all. There is more than need to suffer, though.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Councilwoman Verity sidles up beside him, settles in like they're old friends, and looks at the pictures of the victims strewn around the memorial.

"Monique had a history of human trafficking," Jellal says before he can stop himself.

Verity pauses, looks at him. Her expression is inscrutable. "I wasn't aware."

"This council has secrets in spades," says a new voice.

Jellal turns with a smile primed. "Captain Eros."

"Councilman Fernandez." Eros nods his head politely. Jellal imagines hitting him with Pleiades, watching him pop and burst and then turn to nothing. Not even ash would be left. The council building would again be destroyed by his hand, and maybe the nightmare will be over.

But then Erza won't get her revenge.

"Councilwoman Verity, a word, if I may?" Eros asks, turning his attention to the older woman.

"Pardon me, Councilman." Verity touches Jellal's arm as she goes by, following Eros into one of the meeting rooms. The door closes. Jellal starts to cast a listening spell and is interrupted by Councilman Tweed.

"We're a force divided." Tweed settles his bulk against the wall, leaning back, reminding Jellal of a hippo coming to rest at a pond's edge.

"How do you mean, Councilman?" Jellal asks.

"Those that remember the council from your days of Councilman do not trust you. They are few and far between, but their voices are loud," Tweed explains. "Verity is of the new era, and does not, as Wolfheim expressed, appreciate the damages you've caused."

"I'm a new man," Jellal hears himself say the lie, feels it may be true, if he tries, but cannot bring himself to say it with such conviction.

"If I had doubts, you wouldn't be standing here," Tweed agrees, as though he is unable to see the apathy that fills Jellal's stance. "Have you gotten any closer to discerning the killer's motives, or their next target?"

Jellal finds himself in a trap. He wants to play a game. He loves games. Lives for them. He cannot stop himself, though he knows it is unwise. "There are a few. A guard in your Enforcement Unit, Wilson Burnaby. A mage that goes simply by, Nadim, and a clerk, Grendel Melrose."

Tweed looks at him like he's gone mad. "They are nobodies."

"Are they? They all have ties to the council, and all have sealed records. Each has been blacked out. Like Monique. Like Councilman Shar."

Tweed's eyes dance with fury. There is nothing he hates more than a lack of control. "Very well. The question remains, though, which will they target?"

And here is the game: "My best estimation is Wilson Burnaby." Jellal lists the reasons: beating one of his charges to death after they surrendered, sexually assaulting the young men he takes into custody, a long, colourful history of sexualized violence. He doesn't mention the Tower of Heaven. That is for Tweed to discover. But he won't. He's lazy. He wants to trust the wolf at his door and so he will.

"How sure are you he will be next?" Tweed looks around the council chambers as he speaks, voice cast low as though their killer might be listening.

"As reasonably as I can be, Chairman," Jellal answers. "This is research and guesswork." This is profiling and choosing his victims.

Tweed turns his watery eyes on Jellal. "If you were the killer, this is where you would strike?"

Jellal feels a smile pulling at his mouth. He quashes it. "Your killer has a righteous angle. If they were looking for horrible people to snuff out, they wouldn't be wanting with Burnaby. His transgressions far outweigh the others I listed."

"I hate to protect someone so deplorable." Tweed shuffles, looks disgusted, like he might be sick. He has faults, it's true, but deep down, he is a good man worthy of the Chairman's seat. "But if we have another dead, we could have a riot. We'll assign Burnaby a protection unit, guards he can hand-pick himself, and a mage of Fairy Tail's choosing. The rest we'll put with the council again in case Burnaby isn't the target."

The stakes rise. Jellal's pulse gallops in his ear. This is the thrill he's missed. Taking out dark guilds is honest and purposeful work. There isn't much finesse required, though. He need not fear the repercussions of his actions because they're sanctioned.

He considers there is something loose in his mind to crave this madness, this new challenge he's created for himself. He loves it though.

"Shall I pass the news on?"

Tweed nods. "Thank you, Councilman Fernandez."

He frills with pride. _Councilman_. Hearing the title never grows old. "Be well, Chairman."

* * *

Erza is brushing her hair in front of the mirror when Jellal enters her room. Her eyes are dark-rimmed and tired and light up only slightly when she sees him. He goes to her, wraps his arms around her waist, holds her tight to his body where he can kiss the skin just beneath her ear and feel her shiver with pleasure. He can smell the exhaustion on her. The old fear: she will tire of this game long before he's ready.

Before that, though, he must tell her his plan, and how it will exonerate her in the eyes of the council, how once again, he will be her shadow wielding her sword while she stands shining in the light.


	12. Chapter 12

Erza isn't entirely comfortable with the new plan. It leaves her sitting on the sidelines while Jellal deals the lethal blows she's supposed to be dealing. But his reasoning is sound—Eros is on her trail and she needs to get him off, and the easiest way to do that is to remain in the eye of the councilmembers.

Besides, it's difficult to deny Jellal when he gets that gleam in his eye, the one that says he has focus and purpose. The one that lets her know he's taking back a portion of his life, too, with every 'demon' he slays. She's an only child, but she's learned to share. If this is what Jellal needs to do to excise his demons… well, she'll try to let him.

Briefly, his hand lingers on her side as he pulls her in close for a cyclist to pass and she imagines they're a normal couple. That she can relive last night repeatedly, when he came to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, when he pressed his lips against her neck, when he whispered what passed as sweet nothing's for them in her ear, when, afterward, he touched her all over, as indulgent as the first time he touched her, making her sigh and submit to his ministrations.

But that cannot be for them.

Not yet anyway.

Soon, if she plays nicely, and then if she's mean, she can have everything she wanted.

* * *

Lucy, Happy, Natsu and Gray are by the fountains when Erza and Jellal break into the city centre. Inevitably, her eyes travel left to where she ended Louis Hemming's life. Authorities have cleaned up the stain of his blood, buried him deep in the ground. His reign of terror is over. Yet, Erza wonders if she'll ever be able to totally put him to rest. His crimes weren't as bad as someone like Eros', but without someone like Louis interfering for his own benefit, shipping building material, the Tower of Heaven would have had a much harder time existing, and for that, he had to pay.

She regrets nothing.

"Erza!" Lucy is always greeting her like that, as though she is a flower and Erza is sunlight, helping her grow. Erza feels more like the moon, reflecting Lucy's light back down at her; she'll never understand, though.

"How are you?" Lucy asks with too much significance to be subtle if that's the vibe she's going for. Everyone in the group knows Erza almost bled out last night but only Lucy is foolish enough to ask something silly like _are you okay_.

Erza assesses her state. She's a little lightheaded, truth be told, like she should be drinking more water, eating more iron, but here she is, preparing to cut down a foe of her own making, all to show the council she's innocent of the crimes she's committed.

"I'm okay," Erza says instead of the things on her mind. She's glad Natsu is a fire dragon slayer and not a poison dragon slayer like Erik, who knows her thoughts almost before she thought them. She's equally happy Lucy seems content to believe her. It's Gray who is the problem, eyeing her suspiciously. She needs to be wary of him; he makes so many misguided schemes of his own, she knows he has a nose for them.

She's not sure what he'd think of her plan to eradicate Earthland of all the people that harmed her. Sometimes, it's difficult to fathom which way Gray's moral compass will go. He runs cold. Clinical. She thinks, though, she could find an ally in him if she wanted.

She doesn't.

Erza settles down on the fountain. The fading sunlight warms her through her armour, making her lament the long night ahead of her.

Everyone looks at her, waiting for her to speak. Erza isn't sure at what point in her life she became hungry for command or if she's always wanted control. "We think we know who the next target is going to be."

Erza's friends eagerly tighten the circle around her as she tells them, against her better judgement, of Wilson Burnaby. It's not that she doesn't trust Jellal to get in and make the kill. It's that she has a lot of faith in her family. They're good mages. They're smart. They're resourceful. They're capable of seeing through Jellal's ruse and capturing him in the act.

Gray is the first to speak afterward. "Who's going to watch him?"

Erza wants to say _me_ but she feels Jellal's eyes on her face, knows for their exoneration to work, she needs to play by his rules. He's the master manipulator. He knows what moves to make to draw attention away from himself.

The next person to speak surprises Erza. "I can do it."

She looks at Lucy, who is standing with her shoulders straight and her hair curling around her neck in the soft breeze, who is looking at everyone with fierce protection in her eyes. "I want to."

"Not a chance," Natsu says immediately.

Lucy's jaw drops. She collects herself. I want to."

"Doesn't matter. It should be me."

"Why? Lucy can handle it," Gray kicks in.

"Because _I_ want to," says Natsu, who can't seem to see the double standard he's posing or doesn't care.

"I can handle it," Lucy interjects again.

And so the bickering begins. Erza watches them, separate, as they fight for the right to protect a nobody from a force they don't understand. Her team is good. Better than she's ever been.

"Gray should do it," Jellal speaks for the first time in long minutes, startling everyone. They're so unused to his presence.

Erza casts him a glance from the corner of his eye. He's assessing the group like the predator he is, searching for weaknesses but also playing to their strengths. Natsu would smell him out. Lucy, he likely thinks, won't be challenging enough, but Gray is capable without putting Jellal at a disadvantage or risking Erza's involvement being known. It'll be a fine hunt, the glow in his eyes seems to say.

Erza considers calling the whole thing off. She loves Jellal. But she doesn't trust him. Not completely.

She hates to deny him, though, and knows he wouldn't put her family at risk if he could help it. Most of the time, he can't, says a deplorable little voice in her mind.

Erza squeezes his hand, hoping to convey her concern without putting it into words. Jellal squeezes back. I hear you; I am in control, he says with a glance.

The gods help her, she believes him.

"Gray? Natsu squawks. "I'm a better mage than him. I should do it if you want this guy to make it to the morning."

"The council will be expecting that move," Jellal reasons. "I told them you would be watching the guard. If there are a spy and a killer in their ranks, they'll have that information, too and prepare for resistance against a fire mage. This is the more unexpected route."

Lucy pouts, put out but too polite to voice that she's been insulted.

"The councilmen agreed to spending their evening in groups of two to make our jobs easier. Lucy and I will pair up to watch Verity and Tweed," Jellal decrees.

Ezra searches his face. If he's choosing his teammate based on his ability to fool them, he's underestimating Lucy.

_Or he knows exactly how clever she is_ , she thinks unwittingly. Jellal loves to play with danger, is driven by it. Why wouldn't he want to put himself with the cleverest piece of her team's puzzle?

This feels like they're plunging toward another disastrous evening, but Erza can do nothing to slow the coming catastrophe.

"Erza," Natsu says, and nothing more, just her name, and a glance between Jellal and Lucy, asking are you sure?

Truthfully, no. she's not sure. But she knows Jellal won't hurt Lucy. Not intentionally, so she nods to Natsu.

"Let's move," Gray says, satisfied that he has an important part of their mission. He's always been confident. Has always had reason to be. Even when he fails, he picks himself up again. Erza's more worried for Jellal than she has any right to be. But she nods and they set out.

* * *

Jellal studies Lucy like an equation. Little bits pieced together to make her a whole person—her past, her present, her future, even the one that died in Mercurius, has formed this mage before him. She's a strange girl. Buoyant. Not storm nor rain will keep her down.

"Are you worried about our assignment?" he asks, curious the way a cat is as it plays with a mouse—even as he reminds himself Lucy is not a mouse. She is Erza's friend. And an obstacle he's going to work around, not through. Just because he's making her part of his game doesn't mean she's a mouse. He will think of her more like a hedgerow hindering his passage out of a maze.

Lucy kicks a little stone, sending it skittering off the street. "Natsu and Gray always get the action. Tonight's going to be boring." She sighs and looks to the stars as though considering plucking one of her spirits from sleep to entertain them. She shakes the thought away before it comes to that and honestly, Jellal's disappointed. Getting past two of them would be even more of a challenge.

"Best not look for trouble, Lucy. It has a way of finding you," Jellal says. "There's nothing wrong with a quiet night."

She has opinions on the matter and many of them are obvious with just a short glare from her. Jellal smiles to himself.

They slow by Verity's cottage. Jellal knocks on the door, letting her and Chairman Tweed know they've arrived. She assails them with offers of food again that Lucy declines but Jellal accepts and eats a cake drizzled in honey on the step next to Lucy while around them, the sun sinks below the horizon and steadily, clouds gather overhead.

Their conversation is stilting at first. The only thing they really have in common is Erza. Lucy can talk to anyone given some time, though, and soon, she's regaling him with tales of Erza's exploits. Many he's heard before, but he lets her speak. It's interesting hearing Erza's daringness come from the mouth of someone enthralled by her, and not Erza herself, who downplays every amazing thing she does. He even laughs, glad that Erza has found this strange family, and this strange sort of peace she can sink into when the rest of her life has been a sea of chaos.

After about an hour the conversation lulls. Lucy picks at the tops of her boots; Jellal wipes his fingers on a handkerchief.

"We should do a perimeter check," Lucy decides.

Jellal, who has barely been patient, smiles. It could be filled with too much relief. Lucy doesn't notice the way Erza might, or Natsu, who is always watching him for that one wrong movement. "You take the east side; I'll take the west. We'll meet back here."

The property isn't that large. Lucy nods, though, and stands, stretches. Jellal joins her, creaking, and popping. His joints hurt; he's been hard on his body for too long, the tower, prison, endless battles with dark guilds.

"Be careful," Lucy says unnecessarily.

Jellal repeats her words, though they're foolish. The world needs to be careful of him, not the other way around.

The forest around Verity's home is thick and dark and easily hides his person when he separates from Lucy and slips between its towering trees where he splits himself into two. When he looks at his projection, he sees Siegrain, all the terrible parts of himself, and all the parts he liked, too. There is a freedom to being ruthless. You never have to care about anyone.

But of course, he did, even when he was masquerading; he was thinking about Erza. Always Erza. He would die for her. He would live for her, too.

He flexes his control over his projection and watches the second him return to Lucy. He dedicates a portion of his thoughts to being that Jellal while this one gathers his magic around him and uses meteor to cross the city in a heartbeat.

The world swirls below, people, doing things he can't take in, places, buildings standing sentinel over the living city for what will only be a second in the time of the cosmos, but for humans, will last upwards, past, a lifetime.

We're so fragile, he thinks, coming out of his spell and joining the toil on the street. So ephemeral.

Burnaby isn't like the other members of the council. He doesn't live a life of quiet luxury or act as he does. He lives in a poor part of the city, where the houses turn grubby and soft with rot. Where the smell in the air isn't cooking, but something astringent and foul.

Its an interesting choice for a man made rich by the Tower of Heaven. There is an instant in which Jellal wonders if he's in the right place and has the right man. Then he reminds himself of the papers he held, the sealed files the council should have burned rather than hideaway.

Burnaby is just terrible with his money. He isn't the first, he won't be the last.

Jellal nestles himself amongst the shadows and watches the street. Almost immediately, he spots Gray by Burnaby's shabby house, pacing back and forth out front of a crooked wooden door. He considers the night as he moves restlessly but still entertains himself, making the ground icy and slipping his feet across it, as though he can't quite stand the oppressive autumn air and needs to feel coldness in the ground.

His circuit takes him across the front yard to the back. Jellal thinks he can make his move, get in before Gray can notice, but he holds still, waits. A second later, Gray comes back with a communication lacrima and on it is his stepbrother's face. Lyon Vastia. He's older than Gray now, and not half the villain he used to be.

Jellal watches them, listening to their conversation while the moon sinks the opposite way in the sky.

"It's boring," Gray says. "I'm exhausted."

Lyon says something back that Jellal can't hear but it makes Gray roll his eyes.

He does another circuit, still holding the lacrima, and this time, Jellal moves.

With a thought, he's on the roof of the house, teetering on the shingles. Below, Gray, predictably, pauses and tilts his head, listening intently after he feels the sudden influx of Jellal's magic.

"I gotta go," Gray says and cuts off the communication before Lyon can say anything in response.

Quietness blankets the night like a poisoned cloud. Jellal's heart pulsates pleasantly in his chest, and all his muscles fire with adrenaline. He's missed this feeling. He's—

Jellal steps back and disturbs a nest of squirrels on the roof. They scream, moving erratically, throwing loose shingles to the ground, and drawing Gray's attention upward. Jellal hurls himself against the chimney, out of sight, and holds his breath.

A squirrel balances on the eves and chitters unhappily in Jellal's direction. A lance of ice shoots up from the ground, encircles the squirrel, casts it into stasis. It teeters, falls. Jellal never hears it hit the ground and imagines Gray beneath it, waiting to catch its prone body.

Jellal hears him sigh but knows that won't be the end of it. Gray thinks he knows what's caused the commotion but he's thorough.

Desperate, Jellal reaches into the fabric of the heavens with as little magic as possible and plucks a small heavenly body from its black gown. It slides through the sky, bright as a firework, before burning up in the atmosphere, bright enough that it snags Gray's attention. Jellal can hear people exclaiming from where he stands.

Below, Gray turns his attention that way, awed by the phenomenon like everyone else. But then he remembers the scolding Erza gave him yesterday once she was well enough, and he pauses, returns to Burnaby's house, and even makes a stairway to the roof to see if anyone's hiding there. By then, though, Jellal has let himself in through an open bedroom window, and Gray has no idea.

When Gray knocks on the door and enters to check the premises, Jellal retreats again, back to the roof, where he waits out the conversation inside the house. Gray tells Burnaby to be on alert, and Burnaby gladly agrees. It's something else, hearing the guard's voice after so long. Jellal hasn't realized he has saved a recess in his mind for this man, but here he is, stepping out of the cobwebs and into the light.

In his mind's eye, Burnaby is youthful and his eyes glow with a malice that cannot be hidden behind smiles. Back in his Tower of Heaven days, he was the kind of man that drowned raccoons, shot squirrels with a slingshot when they tried to get into his feeder, and regardless of who he is now, Jellal is suddenly glad the squirrels on his roof are ruining his already shabby house. Glad that until now, he's lived with the smell of piss and disease. He deserves it.

The front door closes and Jellal again slides inside the house. He's in the master bedroom. It smells like unwashed human and neglect—musty, overused, unclean. Even in the darkness, he can see there are dust bunnies on the floor that float around as he walks through, his cloak disturbing them.

Jellal settles in wait near the doorway and though he's prepared for a long night of anxious waiting, Burnaby surprises him by mounting the stairs and, after a short trip to the washroom, entering his bedroom.

He's sighing as he does so, expelling breath that smells thickly of alcohol and cheesy snacks. Jellal doesn't think _that_ will throw him back in time, either, but the smell ranking off Burnaby is a time capsule and suddenly, he's back in the Tower of Heaven, small, powerless, before what he thought was Zeref came to him and granted him the confidence and power to destroy his own world. His face is phantom burning with the memory of Burnaby's smacking it with a very recently unlit torch. It's so powerful, even the stink of ignited kerosene scorches his nose.

The Jellal before Siegrain and before Crime Sorcièr might have been paralyzed by Burnaby's sudden resurrection, but this Jellal has learned to move on, has learned that his targets are much pleasurable when they aren't moving.

And so, when Burnaby steps over the threshold, Jellal grabs him by the throat and the chin, determined to break his neck before he can scream.

Burnaby surprises him one more time by crouching low and hitting Jellal squarely in the kidney. He's drunk, but his punch still packs a wallop with all his considerable weight behind it. Jellal skips back, out of range.

Though it's dark, Jellal can see Burnaby's gotten old. He's gotten robust. What he has not gotten is as careless as Jellal would hope and dodges Jellal's responding attack.

Burnaby hits him twice more in quick succession. Before he knows it, Jellal finds himself on the filthy ground with Wilson Burnaby standing over top of him. His eyes, though shadowed, still glow with the menace they did at the Tower of Heaven. Burnaby still hurts things weaker than him, still hunts the innocent, still gets his jollies in depraved dens. He's older now, true, but not frail.

He leans over Jellal with a confidence stolen from years of terrorizing. His chest rises and falls and his greasy hair flops forward, pushed by the frantic breaths he gasps in.

Rather than calling for help, Burnaby's first words are, "I know you."

Jellal's prepared for a herald back to the days he was Siegrain, but Burnaby hits him with, "You're the crazy kid that disappeared those guards."

Suddenly, it is thirteen years ago, Jellal is in chains, and he's hanging by his wrists. He's split in two, fearful and resilient, he's learning there is no freedom in this world. He's afraid. He's afraid of what that means for the people he loves. For the ones he's struggled to protect. And Zeref (Ultear) is giving him an answer, a path, a way not from the darkness because it's inescapable, but a way to tame it.

Burnaby finishes, "You're the zealot."

Then he laughs. "They said you were cured but that's not so, is it?"

Jellal gathers what little air he can into his lungs and wills the flashback away. He is not a child any longer. He's not powerless. He's not at Ultear's whim.

He is his own monster.

In a sudden movement, he picks himself off the ground and hits Burnaby in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He goes mute, falls back, surprised, and now Jellal has the upper hand.

He stands at his full height, though his kidneys are aching, and looks down at a fallen Burnaby. The other man doesn't seem too concerned, still smiling, though he's gasping for breath, still looking at Jellal as though he's nothing, no one.

"When Eros told me we were being targeted, I didn't think—" Burnaby wheezes in another weak breath. "—That it would be from you." His laugh twists something in Jellal and irks him. "We were told you'd reformed. But you're still a zealot. Still with nothing of your own to live for. You're pathetic."

Jellal imagines kicking him until he curls small and whimpers for mercy. Only one thought stops him: maybe he's a monster, but he has finesse. He's calculated. He's thorough and purposeful.

"I no longer worship Zeref. I am a man of honour. It is my duty to eradicate your evil from this world, though, and so I will."

Burnaby lets out another airy laugh. "Maybe you don't worship Zeref anymore, but you're in thick with something. You've traded one false idol for another."

Jellal has a difficult time controlling his expression and whatever Burnaby sees there gives him the strength to continue.

"Men like you always need something to believe in because you've no conviction of your own. You're here because your idol wants it. Not because you do. Even if you kill me, Councilman, you'll still have to go to bed with that knowledge."

Jellal's used his blade to draw a smile across Burnaby's throat before he can think much about it. The man gurgles as it happens; he doesn't lift his hands to the spot, though, or scream, or thrash, drawing Gray's attention. He slides out of this world and into the next as gently as summer giving way to fall.

Jellal is heaving in the scent of spilled blood to bask in his small victory when he sees something peculiar in the eyes of his projection.

Lucy is returning from another stroll around Verity's house when the night sky lights up in an explosion around her and suddenly, she's freefalling, soaring through the air, crashing to the ground, broken and bloody.

They're under attack.


	13. Chapter 13

Meteor blazes against the dark when Jellal calls it, too bright but he's too desperate to mute it. He soars out of Burnaby's home and into the night sky. In seconds, he's reached his target: Lucy.

Fire blazes from every window in Verity's home. It casts shadow ghosts onto the dry grass. They dance by darting toward each other, then away.

Jellal crashes to the ground in an ungainly fashion, merges with his projection, and then stalls by the treeline, torn between checking on Lucy, who lies prone on the ground—he can't say for certain if she's still breathing—and Verity, who he cannot see nor hear.

The front door of the Councillor's home bursts open and solves his dilemma for him. Verity emerges with Tweed levitated by her magic behind her. The councilman bobs, limp, bloody, and pale.

There's no time to think of what's happened to Tweed, though. Verity is running from her home, and Tweed is as safe as he can be behind her, and Jellal must focus on Lucy because Erza will kill him if anything happens to her.

Worse than kill him.

Leave him behind.

He makes it to her side and crouches down beside her. There's a burn across her face, just below her eye. It's a welt bad enough to scar. Her keys are several feet from her outstretched hand. They glint in the firelight.

Jellal grabs them. Lucy stirs beneath him, eyes parting just slightly, hand reaching for her keys.

As soon as she's touched them, her body bucks without warning and suddenly, Lucy is crying out in agony. Jellal searches frantically for the wound but can see none. She does it again, lifting off the ground this time, and throwing her keys wide once more. They land several feet away, at the feet of a newcomer.

Jellal looks up. he expects to see the eyes of a man but instead is greeted only by fire. It enshrouds the newcomer's toes, legs, torso, and face, making it impossible to identify them.

Jellal knows who it is, though. Without doubt. While Erza was busy worrying for Natsu's life, Eros was planning an attack against Lucy.

Eros overlooks Jellal and focuses on Lucy. She bucks again and this time when she lands, Jellal hears a bone break. Lucy cries out, and then she says nothing at all as she loses consciousness.

"Lucy is innocent. How far will you go to hurt Erza?" Jellal calls to the fire man.

"If it will make the girl throw off her façade, I will do a great many terrible things," Jellal is ensured. "Step aside, let me end the girl, and we'll see the beast."

It takes Jellal a moment to understand what Eros is saying. His voice is almost lost to the crackle of flames. _See the beast_. He's talking about Erza. Her iridescent scales and too sharp fangs, the wildness in her eye when the change threatens to overcome her. Part of Jellal wants to see it, too. He loves Erza best when she's dangerous, and she's never more dangerous than when the dragon is pushing against her skin.

But a small part of him screams very loudly, _not like this._

Jellal thinks _Jiu Leixing_ and nine swords made of magical lightning appear. They strike one after the other, some burrowing into the ground when Eros moves, but he cannot dodge them all. He cries out. The sharp tang of blood soaks the air. Jellal relishes in it, his will to fight renewed.

Erza will be mad if Jellal arrives in her bedroom with Eros' head hanging from his hand by the hair. Worse than mad. She will be furious. She will perhaps never fully forgive him for taking the kill away from her. But part of her will also feel indebted, and every time she touches him, he knows he'll feel some of that gratitude seeping in through her fingers, soaking into his skin, and it'll make the moment she destroys him so much sweeter.

Jellal is lost in fantasy when he feels his blood get hot. His skin itches. It feels like it goes on forever, but it's seconds. At first, he's confused, but then he remembers Erza's recounting of her run-in with Eros in the Beaches and he knows Eros is trying to explode him as he exploded Crang the thief.

Jellal can do nothing but bend his back and scream as the magic ruptures from his chest. Hot blood soaks the inside of his leather armour, stinking, sticky. He gasps. Has rarely felt anything more painful or violating. His magic is _his_ and should never be used against him in such a way.

Before Jellal can recuperate, he's itching again, screaming again, bleeding again. He goes down on his knees. The dirt is hot and loose beneath his hands, and then it's wet as his blood sluices out from beneath the leather and soaks into it. Each breath he takes sears into his lungs. The fire in Verity's home is getting out of hand. In the distance, he can hear sirens wailing. The Authorities will arrive soon, and before that happens, Eros expects Jellal to be dead.

Jellal grits his teeth and lifts his head. He's faced worse villains than a ghost from his past. He starts to draw a circle in the dry dirt. Immediately, the clouds above his head get dense and black. Eros still blazes in front of him, his features covered by fire, but Jellal swears, he sees the other man's face fall.

"You'll kill your companion, too," Eros warns.

Jellal wants to say _I'll protect her_. But the truth is when Sema hits, sometimes, it's difficult to protect even himself.

In that brief moment of hesitation, Jellal is battered with the most powerful of Eros' spells yet. It uses the magic he's already summoned in his body and it bursts it outward until it feels like Jellal is bleeding from every inch of skin like his body is tearing itself apart. He's going to be like Crang, a red wet smear because his greatest strength has been turned into his greatest weakness.

Light shines beside him. In his agony, Jellal turns his head and sees Lucy has come around, in a fashion. She's on her knees and with her good arm, she brandishes two of her gold keys like daggers. From them pours two celestial spirits, Loki, and Virgo.

Jellal has the pleasure of watching Eros' eyes go wide before the ground beneath Jellal's feet is taken away by Virgo. She clutches him as if he weighs nothing at all, ferrying him away from the danger. When they surface again, they're closer to Lucy.

Loki fights Eros like he doesn't feel the fire, dashing in and hitting him with the kind of vengeance a loved one would exact. He's furious.

Virgo drops Jellal as unceremoniously as she picked him up and joins the fray and together, it seems like she and Loki are pushing Eros back.

Now that the man's focus isn't on Jellal, Jellal can gather his magic without fear of it burning a hole through his skin. He plucks a heavenly body from the sky and sends it crashing into Eros. There is no dodging the attack and Eros goes down, gasping, fires sputtering. Jellal can see his face for an instant, slicked in sweat, blood. They lock eyes and there is a lot of hate in that glare.

Seeking to end it, Jellal reaches for another meteor but before it can crash into their foe, both Loki and Virgo implode, dousing the surrounding area in magic and viscera. Lucy screams as though she feels the attack, too. She sways. Jellal grabs her before she can go down on the arm he's now certain is broken.

By the time he looks up, Eros is gone. The sirens get louder. He sits back with Lucy. She's passed out. Her head lolls on his shoulder and her eyelids are pale blue. She shivers from pain, he, from magic loss.

* * *

The next time Jellal awakes, he doesn't know what he's staring at. It's a pale ceiling. Featureless. Endless.

People are talking. Not loudly at first. But a voice raises and Jellal lifts his head up to see what the fuss is about.

Gray is standing over Lucy, who lays on a narrow cot, face pale, eyes closed, arm in a cast.

 _We're in an infirmary,_ Jellal thinks before the edges of his vision get blurry and he must lie back and close his eyes again. He falls back asleep without effort to the sound of Gray's furious whisper.

* * *

The next time Jellal wakes, it's because someone is shaking him. He expects the peak of his canvas tent, Ultear and her severe expression. What he gets instead is Gray sitting at his bedside.

Jellal tries to sit up. His chest hurts. He could push it, he thinks, but decides against it, and lies back down. "What's wrong?" His throat is hot and sore and dry.

Gray looks around the infirmary, checking for listening ears. His eyes linger on the bed Lucy occupied (empty now) for a beat too long before he turns back to Jellal.

Before he even begins, Jellal senses there will be trouble. He's looked at people the same way before he leaves them with a world of regret. Whatever it is that Gray has to say, Jellal suddenly doesn't want to hear it. He starts to rise in earnest now, his thoughts swirling toward Erza. He's been out for too long. What if something happened to her? What if—

Gray takes Jellal by the shoulder and holds him still. He doesn't have to try as hard as he usually might, Jellal is disoriented and sore and Gray holds the weight of some righteous conviction behind him.

"I saw you," Gray says with enough emphasis to make Jellal go slack. "I saw your spell," Gray reiterates into the quiet. "You killed that man." His hand tightens. "Why would you do that?"

"Gray." His name is spoken sharply.

Jellal dares to take his eyes off Gray and watch Lucy stalk across the room. Even with her arm in a cast and a burn slashing from her nose to her mandible, she's as fearsome as he's ever seen her, loose hair flying out behind her and her heels _clonking_ decisively on the floor with every step. "Stop it."

"It was him," Gray insists.

"I already told you, he was with me the whole time," Lucy says over him. "He saved my life."

"After he ended Burnaby's." Gray isn't giving an inch, and every word he says only makes Lucy more furious.

"Erza wants to talk to you," she says instead of arguing with him.

Gray closes his hands into fists, looks down at them. "Does she know I'm here?"

"Of course she does," Lucy answers.

Gray pales just slightly. Jellal understands. When Erza wants to be, she is as unforgiving as a hurricane. You've no choice but to be blown over by her and ruined.

Gray stands and Lucy takes his place. She waits until he's out of the infirmary before speaking, though. "Thank you for helping. You did save me."

"You saved me," Jellal counters, remembering Lucy's spirits spilling from her keys and Virgo pulling him out of the line of fire.

Lucy flops down in the seat Gray vacated. Beneath her eyes are bruised. She looks exhausted. Her arm sits limply on her lap. "Wendy is travelling from Magnolia," she says, following Jellal's line of sight. "With her help, we'll be good as new."

"You don't sound very excited about that," Jellal notes.

She rolls her lips together in thought. "People are dying, and they're dying badly. If she didn't have to see them…" She sighs. "Wendy will blame herself for not being able to save them."

Jellal thinks he used to be like that in the time before Ultear and what he thought was Zeref. He would watch Simon put himself in the way of bad things and afterward, would berate himself for not being able to stop it. It's a simplistic trap, easy to fall into, potentially deadly. This world has no place for bleeding hearts.

"Natsu thinks he can protect her from the worst of it." Lucy uses her good hand to pleat the sheets. They're loose enough at Jellal's side that he doesn't feel her hand working. She doesn't look at him, either, making the whole thing seem impersonal. She barely notices he's there, in her own thoughts.

"Who else thinks I was at Burnaby's home?" Jellal asks. He doesn't have it in him to be subtle.

Lucy's eyes flit up to his, linger. "Gray's only told me." She explains, "Natsu's too much of a hothead to sit on that kind of accusation if he thinks there's even a chance it might be true, and Erza… Gray doesn't want to hurt her." She lifts her shoulder.

"Do you believe it?"

She looks at him directly, gaze steady and true. "Were you with me all night?"

Lying to Lucy, Jellal finds, is almost as difficult as lying to Erza. There's a sense of ingenue about her that he almost trips on.

Thoughts of protecting Erza and her interests, though, make his tongue like a snake's.

"I was," he affirms.

Without hesitation, Lucy says, "Then that's truth enough for me. I'll bring Gray around."

* * *

It's dark when a burly nurse comes in and tells Jellal he's well enough to go. He's stiff rising and requires her help pulling on his shirt. His chest, beneath layers of bandages and salves, looks like burned skin, bubbled and raw and red where his magic literally avulsed from his skin.

He limps down the hallway, thinking of Wendy and how good it will be to be the focus of her healing magic. He's often wished for a healer in his guild. Crime Sorcier is no place for a child, though. Exposed to all that bad, she would grow to be as odd and misshapen as the rest of them.

There is a carriage outside the hospital. Jellal pays the driver to take him to Erza's motel.

When he looks up from the ground, he worries she's left him to the wolves; the lights are off in her room and the window is closed. But then the wind blows, and he sees a flash of scarlet pushed from narrow shoulders. She's on the roof, sitting beneath the moon, as she is so often lately.

It's too difficult to play with magic right now, he still feels drained, so Jellal takes the stairs. Erza's door is unlocked. By the time he's made it inside, she's back through the window and looking at him, silhouetted by the moon.

"Should you be walking?" she asks.

There's a coolness in her voice and for the first time, Jellal wonders why she wasn't at his bedside when he woke.

"The nurse cleared me to leave." He can't see her face. He longs to.

Erza is the first to move, and she moves closer. She reaches for him, taking him by the arms and pulling him to the bed. He collapses more than sits. He's unreasonably tired.

Erza sits, too, and faces him. He still can't read her.

Erza whispers, "What happened at Burnaby's? Gray is acting strangely."

"He thinks he saw my spell," Jellal confesses.

Erza gnaws her lip as she does when she's anxious. "Damnit."

"All he saw was a streak of light," Jellal assures her. "He has no proof."

He can see she's unhappy about it. "This was too dangerous. We shouldn't have…"

He can't hear her say it. For weeks, he's loved nothing more than this hunt and he can't have her take it away from him. "Lucy believes I was with her all night. It's fine." It _will_ be fine. Even if he must make it so.

If Erza sees the threat in his words, she chooses to ignore it and pushes on with another bit of bad news. "Tweed is dying."

Coldness shoots through Jellal's veins. "What?"

"They took him to the hospital," Erza confirms in a ragged whisper. "He was gravely injured in the attack."

For all the blood that soaks her hands, Jellal can see she feels guilty for this one innocent casualty.

"It was Eros," Jellal tells her. "He attacked Verity's home, and then Lucy."

Erza bunches the blankets between her fists. One by one, Jellal watches scales emerge from her skin, like claws sliding from sheaths. She bleeds a little; it must hurt. "He will pay."

Jellal realizes she's being so quiet to control herself, not because she's angry with him, but because she's furious with Eros.

"He's trying to seduce you into violence."

"He's done an excellent job." This time, Erza doesn't try to disguise the fury in her. Her eyes catch the moonlight, black, narrow pupils. Jellal is chilled to his core and intrigued. He leans into her without meaning to, just to bask in the danger.

"Will you hunt him?"

"I will destroy him for what he's done," she answers.

Jellal catches himself thinking reverent thoughts. He pulls back from her. Thinking it's fear, Erza comes back to herself and one by one her scales disappear.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," she tells him.

"I'm not." And it's the awful truth.

"Then what are you thinking?"

Jellal takes a fortifying breath. "Do you think I always need someone to worship?"

Erza considers him for a long time before eventually lifting her hand and laying it against his cheek. He can smell the iron tang of her blood drying on her knuckles; it overlays the fragrance of the lotion she's applied to minimize her scars. "Sometimes, we need something to believe in."

If it's her and not an evil like Zeref, she means.

As Erza kisses him, Jellal wonders about overlapping shadows, at times nearly sure he's traded one darkness for another. He's also almost positive, even when he feels the nubs where her wings press against her scaled skin, that it doesn't matter.

He undresses his beast and worships her.


End file.
